


To the Victor

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Protective Tony Stark, Recovery, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 242,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: Nightmares are real.  Tony is living one.  It's awful, unending, torturous.  It's driving him mad.  It's killing him.  He just wants to wake up and go back to his life with Steve, a life filled with love and happiness. Yet every day the hell of reality presses down, because Steve went on a mission. Steve made the ultimate sacrifice. Steve is never coming home. And Tony can't let himself believe it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , and _Captain America: The First Avenger_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** M (for language, violence, adult situations, disturbing imagery, medical torture, discussion of rape)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, here's some more dark and angsty Stony! Tagging this one is hard because if I tag it a certain way, it gives it away. If I don't... it gives it away. Rock and a hard place and all that. So to stave off any angry comments, I'm just going to say this: a particular archive warning is missing. Take that for what you will. I'll also give some other general warnings for some not too healthy behaviors on Tony's part.
> 
> Many thanks to the awesome [Winterstar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar) for beta-reading and being a tremendous help with this. This kinda sorta ignores all of Phase 2 and beyond because it's more fun this way ;-).
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

**PART ONE**

“Tony Stark!  My God, it’s been years!”

It had been years, but Tony recognized the voice immediately.  He closed his eyes, sucking a deep breath in through his nose to steel himself, wincing and wondering what he’d done to make God hate him today.  Then he set down his tools and turned around and donned the fakest smile imaginable.  “Ty Stone.”

Sure enough (not that there could be any doubt, but hope sprang eternal, apparently), Tiberius Stone stood in the entrance to his workshop.  He was dressed in gray Armani (really nice gray Armani), with a white dress shirt and a blue tie.   His brown hair was slicked back, loaded down with gel really, and Tony could smell his cologne from across his workbench.  Ty’s eyes were a pretty striking blue, shrewd and icy (at least in Tony’s opinion).  His skin was tan with the look of someone who spent a lot of time pampering it with the best money could buy.  In fact, Tony had to admit he looked really good.

And he was about as unhappy as ever to have to deal with Ty.  Ty smiled that same condescending smile he always had, the one loaded with fake gentility.  It hadn’t changed in thirty years, not since MIT.  They’d met there when Tony had been a freshman (a freshman four years younger than his classmates).  Needless to say, the rest of the class hadn’t taken too well to fourteen year old Tony showing them up every chance he got with his smarts (sometimes not even intentionally).  It didn’t help that Tony was who he was, a genius, yes, but the son of one of the richest men in the world.  A lot of kids at MIT came from wealthy and prestigious upbringings, but Tony Stark, well…  That was in a league all its own.  From the first day, Tony had been ostracized, picked on mercilessly, ridiculed, or, on the opposite end, coldly ignored.  He’d become a social pariah before his first semester had been out, and for a kid already dealing with emotional issues thanks to his strained relationship with his father, that had been a rather serious impediment.

Ty had been a freshman as well but nineteen rather than Tony’s fourteen, and he’d immediately taken young Tony under his wing.  At the time Tony had thought it’d been the best thing that had ever happened to him.  He and Ty had had a lot in common, despite the sizeable age gap (five years when you’re a teenage was a lot, and Tony could distinctly recall how it felt to have a bigger kid take interest in him, particularly when he’d been as starved for attention as he had been).  Ty came from a wealthy family, too; his parents had owned Stone, Inc., which had been some sort of biochemical/pharmaceutical powerhouse.  Once or twice Howard had spoken of the company and not at all kindly, but that had only fueled Tony’s interest in being Ty’s friend (yay for teenage rebellion).  For a while, it had been great.  Ty had been smart and a looker and suave and popular.  He got along great with Tony.  He had protected him, helped him fit in, and helped him find his footing.  Tony hadn’t had nearly the social aplomb and poise then as he possessed now (hard to believe), and as a gangly, awkward, mouthy, overwhelmed fourteen year old, he’d needed all the help he could get.  Ty Stone had offered that up, no strings attached.

At least it had seemed that way.  They’d partnered for the Annual MIT Robot Design contest, and Tony had been so immersed in how nice it was to have a real friend that he hadn’t realized at the time that Ty was using him.  Sure, he hadn’t minded coming up with the design.  And of course he hadn’t minded revising it and getting it to the point where they could start building it.  Actually, where _he_ could start building it, because he hadn’t minded taking that on, either, or ironing out the flaws or beta-testing the software for the AI or any of that.  And he really hadn’t.  He’d been tinkering ever since he could remember, so he liked it a lot.  He was used to working by himself, too, and besides – Ty had been taking care of him.  Dropping by with food whenever he’d been up late in the lab or the workshop.  Bringing friends by his dorm so he could meet people (even if said people wanted help with their physics and mathematics and comp sci assignments more than they wanted to actually talk to a kid).  Getting him into frat parties (even though he was _seriously_ underage).  Treating him like an equal and insisting everyone else did the same.  Basically ensuring Tony had a life at college given his daddy’s fame and the age disparity and all that.  So Tony thought he owed it to Ty to knock the robotics competition out the park.

He had.  Or he would have, only Ty had stolen his design and sold it to one of his father’s competitors.  Of course, Tony hadn’t known that right away.  The day of the competition came and his invention, including all the AI routines he’d written for it, simply disappeared.  Ty had claimed someone must have sabotaged them, broke into the lab and stolen their stuff and destroyed it.  Tony was so firmly in Ty’s orbit that he hadn’t even questioned it even if the disappointment had smarted something fierce.  So had the embarrassment when he’d had to withdraw from the competition at the last second.  Ty had also gotten less… subtle about wanting Tony’s help with classwork as the months went on.  By the time the end of the first year had rolled around, Tony had been working double, doing all his stuff along with Ty’s.  Ty kept claiming his parents were having marital troubles, that he was having issues with his dad, that his dad was a cold, unforgiving bastard who drank and would practically disown Ty should he fail out of MIT.  Basically playing to Tony’s sympathies, so Tony had agreed to help him more and more with _everything_.

Thankfully, Tony had met Rhodey right around then, and Rhodey had set him wise to the fact that Ty was using him for his smarts.  Ty had apparently been selling copies of the work Tony had done for him around campus to other students.  And stealing his ideas.  Plagiarizing him, in effect.  Rhodey had had to prove it all to Tony by taking Tony’s final paper for astrophysics and comparing it to one he’d gotten from one of Ty’s friends and physically shoving them both in Tony’s face.  That was how deeply twisted Tony’s perception of things had been.  Even with the evidence right before his eyes, direct and undeniable, he _still_ hadn’t been able to accept it.  So he’d looked deeper into the last year, into what had happened to _his_ entry into the robotics competition…  That had been when he’d discovered Ty had swiped it and sold it.  He hadn’t covered his tracks quite so perfectly, though the evidence hadn’t been damning enough to take it to MIT’s disciplinary committee.  Still, who knew how many other ideas he’d pilfered?  Furious and low and so damn hurt, Tony had confronted him about it right as the year had ended.  Ty had laughed, ruffled his hair, told him he’d been crazy.  The next year Ty had transferred to CalTech.

That hadn’t been the end of Tony’s relationship with him, unfortunately.  Despite the rocky start, Tony had graduated from MIT early and with honors.  Still, the pain of being used and abused like Ty had had…  That stuck with him.  Tony’s parents had died a couple years later, and he’d found himself at the helm of Stark Industries, the youngest CEO in history.  He’d fucked that up once or twice (or many times).  But all of those experiences had hardened him, and Tony Stark the awkward, eager-to-please teenager had turned into Tony Stark, the snarky, sarcastic playboy who led the world in smarts, money, and power with his devil-may-care attitude and not so well hidden insecurities.  That Tony Stark didn’t do respect or compassion, couldn’t play well with others, didn’t trust, had been betrayed and hurt one too many times in his life to let it go.  That Tony Stark had filled the world with weapons, not caring to find out what those weapons were doing.  And that Tony Stark had been deeply unhappy, when it really came down to it.  Then the Ten Rings had happened.  And SHIELD had happened.  And the Stark Expo and Hammer.  And the Avengers.

And Steve.

Thank God the Tony Stark of ten years ago who’d nearly screwed his life to hell wasn’t the same Tony Stark of today, who thrived as Iron Man and co-led the Avengers and was married to Captain America.  This Tony loved and trusted and felt completely at peace for the first time in his life.  And this Tony hadn’t thought about Ty in ages.  Over the years, he’d run into Ty off and on at tech conventions and meetings and soirees filled with the extremely well-to-do, but they’d never talked much more beyond meaningless pleasantries.  Ty usually tried to extend the conversation, but Tony had figured out how to be an asshole, so he hadn’t felt a lick bad totally ignoring him.  He’d heard Stone, Inc. had passed to Ty with his father’s death, and Ty had renamed it to ViaStone or something like that.  It was still thriving (whoop-de-fucking-doo).  Aside from knowing that and knowing he’d die happy if he never had to speak with this man ever again, he really hadn’t cared one bit.

So that was his history with Ty.  In retrospect, it hadn’t been that big a deal, what happened at MIT.  Still, he never quite forgot how it felt, Ty standing there in his dorm room with all his expensive stuff packed up and being moved out, looking down on him with those icy, condescending eyes.  _“You’re imagining stuff.  It’s the stress getting to you.  I’d never steal from you.  Never.”_   That hand, ruffling his hair.  And that smile, like everything had been some game to him.  _“It’s alright.  I forgive you for thinking it.  Some day you can make it up to me.”_

What an asshole.

And he was right there in Tony’s workshop.  Tony was going to have to have words with JARVIS about keeping the trash out of his Tower, although JARVIS probably asked if it was okay that Ty came up, and he’d probably answered that it was without really listening to the question because he’d been deeply engrossed in trying to get all his work done so he could actually spend some time with Steve.  So he’d shot himself in the foot.  Damn it.  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he made himself ask.

“Actually, I was just in the neighborhood,” Ty declared, coming closer.  His nice shoes were loud on the tiled floor, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants.  Tony felt like a godawful mess next to him, dressed as he was in old jeans and an old t-shirt that read “resistance is futile if < 1 ohm”.  Nerd joke.  And he hadn’t even shaved this morning.  _Peachy keen._   Normally he wouldn’t care at all about that, but Ty always knocked him off his game and honed right in on his insecurities.  “Thought I’d stop by.  Say hello.”

It was hard to be cordial.  Twenty-five years was a long, _long_ time to carry a grudge, particularly since he hadn’t exactly been able to prove concretely that Ty had ever stolen anything of his.  The other man really hadn’t given him any cause since then to treat him poorly.  Once upon a time Tony wouldn’t have cared about that.  Steve had taught him these stupid things called “morals” and “ethics”, though, and the bigger man would turn the other cheek.

That didn’t mean he had to be the bigger man, though.  “Hello.  And goodbye.”

Ty laughed.  “That’s really how you’re going to treat your old friend?”

Tony bit back a harsh retort.  He could almost hear Steve admonishing him.  _Be civil._   “How’s life been?” he gritted out, trying to keep the irritation from his voice.  Trying and probably failing.

But Ty just smiled, the slimy bastard.  “It’s been good, Tones.”  That goddamn nickname.  Only Obie and Ty had ever used it with him.  That was a match made in hell.  “Company’s doing great.  About to open a huge office in Alaska.”  _That’s nice.  Don’t care._ “Board’s pleased, so that’s fantastic.  You?”

God, this felt like some bullshit contest.  “Doing fine.  Pep’s running SI now.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Ty said.  He had that tone, that judgmental edge.  Like Pepper wasn’t good enough to head Stark Industries.  Like Tony wasn’t doing his sacred duty by sitting in on every meeting and making every decision and controlling every aspect of the world’s largest tech conglomerate like a micromanaging dickwad.  Tony wouldn’t be surprised if Ty brought up a load of misogynistic crap about him letting a woman dominate him or some such.  But he didn’t.  “You’re Avenging full time.”

Again, with the tone, and he couldn’t figure out if that was a statement meant in derision or a question.  It could be possible that he was just on edge and paranoid and super sensitive thanks to the past, but Tony wasn’t going to admit that to himself.  “Yeah, you know.  Everything with the company is under control, so my efforts are better spent on little things like saving the world every week.”  So what if that was petty.  It was true.  “I’m kinda bankrolling the op, so it makes sense.”

“And it makes sense to bag your team captain, too, eh?”  Ty grinned, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth, as he leaned over Tony’s workbench.  There were a dozen parts of Iron Man strewn there, plus new arrows for Clint and upgrades to Widow’s Bite and the prototype for better stealth plating on the jet and a bunch of tablets of notes Bruce was waiting for him to look over.  Yeah, he had a mountain of work, and this was a waste of time, and he was _not_ going to talk to his jerk about Steve.  “I guess I should say congratulations.”

“Uh…  Thanks?  It’s been a couple years now.”

“Yeah, but marrying Captain America…  That’s something.”

Tony didn’t know what he meant by that.  Marrying Steve wasn’t news.  At the time, it had been.  It had been _all over_ the place, despite everyone’s efforts to keep their small wedding quiet.  Tony had been pretty sure in the weeks after that Steve would up and divorce him just to get away from the media fallout, but he hadn’t (of course – that had been a stupidly irrational fear, and Steve had reminded him of that about every minute until the shitstorm of it all had died down).  The country and the world hadn’t quite been ready to see Captain America, the symbol of American valor and purity, marry Iron Man, the symbol of, well, not those things.  However, it hadn’t been too big of a deal since then.  The world now saw it as Steve curing Tony of his former partying, error-filled ways, and that was definitely true.  But they didn’t see that the two of them were just good for each other.  _Really_ good for each other.

He was still reeling with the creepy comment that the next creepy comment didn’t register for a second.  “How is he?” Ty asked, and the look on his face… didn’t exactly imply friendly interest.

“E-excuse me?”

Like the sneaky bastard he was, Ty pulled right back (or Tony’s overprotective and paranoid mind was imagining it all).  Ty blushed.  “That came out wrong.  Sorry.  I mean, how’s he adjusting to all the fame and attention that comes with being attached to Tony Stark?  From the press coverage of the Avengers, he always struck me as a quiet kind of guy.”

“Oh, he’s over it.  Plus, he’s used to the spotlight.”  Not that Steve had ever liked it, but that was true enough.

“Well, that’s good.  My last wife couldn’t handle it.”  Ty frowned sadly.  He had a rather flagrant history of marrying and divorcing women, so said the tabloids.  Using and dropping them cold, probably.  Tony knew a thing or two about that.  So Ty’s social comings and goings was really another thing Tony didn’t care two hoots about.  _Please tell me he’s not here to lament his love life._   “She left.”

It was hard, but he mustered up some sympathy.  A pretty paltry amount, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  “Sorry.”

The sad frown turned into a sad smile.  “Eh, it happens, you know?  You do know.  You know exactly how it is.  Men like us…  We can buy whatever we want, have whatever we want, have people scramble over themselves to serve us and adore us, take most anything in the world just because of who we are and how important what we do is.  But it’s not always enough.  Things change, and in the end you can lose everything.”

 _Okay…_   This whole thing was giving him the heebie-jeebies in a serious way.  It was time to not so subtly extricate himself.  “Listen, Ty, I’d love to chat more about the philosophies of the lives of the rich and famous, but as you can see here, I have a shit ton of work to do.”  He gestured at the massive pile of clutter for emphasis.

“I’d like to meet him.”

That came straight out of left field.  Well, logically maybe it didn’t, but Tony reeled with it all the same.  “What?”

Ty grinned.  “Meet Captain Rogers.  Rogers-Stark?  Stark-Rogers?  What is it?”

“We didn’t change names.”

“Mrs. Stark?  Since you probably wear the pants in your relationship, knowing your need to show everyone who’s the boss.”  So that was it.  Ty was here to give him shit about marrying another man.  Misogynistic _and_ homophobic.  And Tony’s cheeks heated instantly.  He was glaring, and he didn’t care at all.  He was about to tell Ty to shove it and get the hell out of his workshop when the other man raised his hands in surrender.  “Okay, okay, just teasing.  Like old times, Tones.”

Yeah, Ty had always loved teasing back in the day, too.  And he’d been mean about it. Of course Tony hadn’t realized that at the time.  Now he looked back on it and cringed at how stupid he’d been.  “Ha fucking ha.”

The little smirk dropped from Ty’s lips.  “Really, sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.  Didn’t know you were so touchy about it.”

“I’m not.”  He was, though.  He was sure as hell touchy about someone trying to talk shit about his relationship with Steve.  Steve was hands down, far and away, beyond any doubt the best thing that had ever happened to him.  And that wasn’t just him being desperate, like he might have been once or twice in the past (as with Ty for example).  This was the God’s honest truth.  Steve was his _life_.  “Look, I’m serious.  I have a lot to get done today.  Is there something specific you wanted?”

Ty pulled back like he realized he’d gone too far.  That was a first.  “No.  No, no.  I really did just want to see you.  And I’d really like to meet Steve.  That’s it.  He seems like a great guy.”

“He is.”  _Doesn’t mean I want you anywhere near him._   “Way better than I deserve.”

That level of humility seemed to shake Ty further.  “Tony, I just…  Time flies by so fast.  I’m fifty.  Can you believe that?  A few days ago.”

Holy shit.  Ty was fifty years old?  _Fifty?_

Tony couldn’t get his mind around that.  As the shock faded, though, it made sense.  Ty would be fifty.  Tony himself just turned forty-five.  He’d be forty-six next year.  Christ.  Just thinking about it made his stomach twist a little.  Forty-five wasn’t old, not by any means.  Even fifty wasn’t.  But, damn, it felt striking right then.  Ty sighed and went on.  “And I spent my fiftieth birthday alone.  No wife.  No kids.  No family.  Not even any friends really because the life we lead…  Well, people are after you for your money or your power, not because they care.  People start treating you differently once you get to a certain point.  You’re not prime anymore.  I think she left because of that.  She was younger than me.  Twenty years almost.  A kid.”  Tony vaguely remembered reading about Ty’s latest marriage in the tabloids a few years back.  All that stuck with him was that she was a leggy blonde, ex-super model or something.  A trophy wife.  “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A tense, uncomfortable knot twisted up Tony’s stomach.  “I don’t know.”

“And I sat there by myself, draining a bottle of scotch and wondered…”  Ty shook his head.  “Jesus, okay, this is not why I came here.  You’re right.  I’ll go.”

There was a look of vulnerability in Ty’s eyes that went straight to Tony’s heart.  It always had, even back at MIT, back when Ty would tell his stories about his cold father and alcoholic mother and the weight of the Stone legacy pushing him down.  Tony long convinced himself that all that was a ploy to manipulate him, and he didn’t want to fall for it again.  However, this seemed earnest.  And what the hell could Ty do to him now?  He was Iron Man.  “No, no.  It’s, uh…  It’s alright.”

Ty turned around from where he was taking a step back to the workshop’s doors.  He hesitated, shaking his head more at himself than anything.  “Getting old sucks.”

“Won’t argue with you there,” Tony replied.

“You try to postpone it, try to ignore it, spend a ton of money to stave it off.”  That obviously explained why Ty looked so good.  Fifty, but he appeared not a day over forty.  “But you grow old and you die.  You can’t stop it, can you?”

That was a strange thing to ask.  Was Ty looking to him to fundamentally alter the human condition?  Tony was rich and he was smarter than smart.  In fact, between him and Bruce, they possessed the lion’s share of the genius genes floating around good old planet earth right now.  But there were limits.  Even he couldn’t stop aging or death (not that he’d ever really thought about it until now, but still).  Dying was natural.  The way it was.  And he was more mature now, at least enough to accept that he wasn’t God (meeting a few real gods and having one often loafing around his Tower also helped with perspective).  “No.”

“I think about it sometimes,” Ty said, like he hadn’t heard the answer at all.  He was all maudlin.  “What it’d be like to live forever.”

Tony never had.  This was… a weird turn to their already weird conversation.  Maybe Ty was still hungover from his party with a scotch bottle.  “Yeah?”

“Never getting old.  Never getting sick.  Not having to watch yourself wither away.    You can make mistakes, but you have all the time in the world to fix them.  You don’t have to worry about your wife leaving you because you have gray hair or wrinkles or you can’t get it up quite like you used to.”  That was said with a great deal of bitterness.  “You don’t have to worry about losing your friends.  You don’t have to worry about who’s going to take over your empire when you die.  That turned my father into a prick for decades before he finally passed away.  Ruined his relationship with me.”  Howard hadn’t exactly been the same, but Tony could appreciate the burden of legacy.  It was a tough one.  Ty was staring at Iron Man’s helmet where it was sitting on the work table.  His expression wasn’t readable now, not exactly.  Rueful, but tense.  Tony was getting more confused by the second.

But Ty snapped himself out of it.  “Anyway, all that got me remembering back to what it was like being young.  And good times at CalTech and MIT.  And I was going to be in New York, and I thought of you, and that’s why I’m here.  We used to be such good friends, Tones.”

That made Tony feel all kinds of angry, his moment of weakness vanishing.  “Yeah, we were.  A long time ago.”  _Take a hint._

“So I just thought we could get together.  Catch up on old times.  We’ve both changed so much.”  _Not really.  Not you._ “And I’d like to meet Captain America.”  Ty grinned, throwing his arms up.  “He’s _Captain America!_   Do I need more of a reason than that?”

“I don’t know where Steve is,” Tony replied, and that was sort of true.  Steve was in the Tower somewhere.  “He’s probably working.”  That wasn’t as true.  After a slew of back-to-back exhausting ops for SHIELD, Steve had a few days off (which was such a rarity) so he was probably sketching in Bruce’s lab or watching movies with Thor or hanging out with Clint as the archer cleaned and organized his weapons or sparring with Natasha.  “He does stuff for SHIELD continually.”

“Surprised you don’t have better tabs on him,” Ty said, and now he was back to being creepy.  Super creepy.  Just what the hell.  “I don’t mind waiting.”

All the sudden, JARVIS’ voice echoed through the workshop.  “Sir, Director Fury is calling for the Avengers to assemble.”

 _Saved by the bell._   Tony wanted to laugh he was so happy.  As it was, he managed an apologetic smile.  “Sorry!  Got to run, pal.”  Ty frowned as Tony quickly put his tools away.  “J, can you see our guest out?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied.  _Make sure he doesn’t take anything_ was the unspoken second part of that request.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Ty grumbled.

“All part and parcel of being an Avenger instead of a CEO.  You know, being needed on a moment’s notice to save the world.”  Yeah, that was a snotty, arrogant, dipshit thing to say, but oh well.

Ty gave a tight smile.  “I’ll be back in town on Friday.”

Tony started out of the workshop.  “Smashing.”

“Maybe the three of us could get together for lunch then or something?  How’s that sound?”

Tony was so high with the promise of escape that he just blurted out, “Sure!  Sounds fun.”  _Not._   He rushed through the doors.  “Nice talking to you!” 

He was down the hall in a jog and not just because of the emergency.  _Thank God._   What a bastard.  He’d never been terribly proficient at figuring Ty out (hence how he’d been taken for a ride his freshman year), but this time…  Wow.  Maybe Ty had fried his brain when he’d been Botoxing and tanning and tanning and _tanning_ himself.  Maybe in his case turning fifty was causing a midlife crisis (or multiple personality syndrome – Tony wasn’t sure which).  Maybe he was just plain deluded.  Showing up and thinking they’d be friends after all these years?  Crazy as hell.  Thankfully it was Monday, so that gave him plenty of time to come up with an excuse to get out of his lunch date from hell.

Later.  There was Avenging to do now.

Or not.  He burst into the command center a few floors up only to find it dark, quiet, and empty.  Well, not entirely empty.

Steve grinned where he was leaning against the conference table.  He had his impressive arms folded across his equally impressive chest, the blue cotton of his polo shirt stretched around his biceps.  It was a really nice shade of blue, his shirt, and it brought out the color of his eyes (hence why Tony had bought it for him).   His jeans continually seemed to hang low on his hips even with a belt, and that fact (and pretty much everything else about him) always made Tony’s brain blank out a second and his heart beat faster.  Even after being married for two years and together before that, it was still overwhelming sometimes, that he had this.  That he had _Steve Rogers._   Ty was right about one thing.  It really was something that Captain America loved him.

And Captain America looked really pleased with himself.  Tony caught his breath from his run up here and looked around at the idle computers and dark monitors and the chairs which were distinctly lacking Avengers.  “No world crisis?”

Steve pushed himself off the side of the table with his hip and dropped his arms.  “Nope.  JARVIS informed me that you were in need of assistance, though.”

Tony grinned wider, heart pulsing with joy more than the effort of running up here.  He stepped closer.  “I thought you said that we weren’t supposed to screw around with the emergency call,” he said coyly.  “Yeah, I specifically remember you up my ass because I pulled a prank.”

Steve smirked.  “Actually, I remember it the other way around.”

Christ, Tony could die.  How in the world was he this lucky?  It took a second for him to wire his mouth back to his brain.  “Regardless, you told me only real emergencies.”

Steve feigned innocence.  “This was a real emergency!  I had to save you.  That’s what JARVIS told me.”

“I did say that, sir,” JARVIS affirmed.

“JARVIS, I could kiss you.”  Tony was standing right in front of Steve now.  “I think I will kiss _you_.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow.  “What are you waiting for?”

Nothing.  Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pulled his face to his and thoroughly thanked him for being his hero.

* * *

Later that night they were training.  That was Steve’s idea of a good ending to a “vacation” day apparently.  Tony wasn’t surprised.  And it wasn’t really a planned training session.  Hell, it wasn’t even really training, when it came down to it.  After a nice dinner with the team, Tony had retired to his workshop to get some things done before deciding that working on Steve’s day off was stupid, so he’d ventured down to the gym to find his husband beating the hell out of a punching bag.  He’d stood and appreciated the view for a while (Steve’s ass in gym shorts should really be a crime) before deciding to join in on the adjacent bag.  Get out some energy, as it were.

Of course, he couldn’t really keep up with Captain America.  Back in the day, he would never have admitted that.  The tense air of competition between them had been practically legendary.  Both of them were incredibly stubborn, and Tony had a pretty sizeable ego to boot.  They’d butted heads on everything, from how to handle battle strategy to what tech needed to be developed first to who was more well-suited to lead in the field to how to get the team to work together better.  Ironically, the two of them working together better solved that last issue, and bitter bickering turned into light-hearted teasing and that turned into flirting, and, well…  Sex really did fix everything.  Tony was a firm believer in that.

Regardless, they still liked to try to one up one another on occasion.  So Tony stood there, exercising his boxing skills (which weren’t meager, mind you), going faster and faster as Steve did the same.  Hitting harder and harder as Steve did the same.  Steve was silent but he kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, and Tony did that, too, breathing hard though Steve wasn’t even panting.  And there wasn’t so much as a drop of perspiration on Steve’s forehead, but Tony was sweating bullets while he picked up the pace of his punches even more.  Steve’s lips curled into a smile, and eventually he hit the bag hard enough that it did come off the hook, bending everything with a moan and a whine despite how reinforced the supports were.  It flew across the room and smacked onto the wood floor, sliding a few feet before colliding with a pile of mats.  He winced, lowering his wrapped fists.  “Whoops.”

“Showoff,” Tony said lightly.  He leaned into his own bag, catching his breath and wondering what would have happened if Steve had punched the bag with all his strength.  Even that blow hadn’t been everything, and Tony knew it.

Steve grinned sheepishly.  “Didn’t mean to.”

Tony couldn’t tell if Steve was being genuine about that or just blowing smoke up his butt.  “Sure, you didn’t.  You know, you don’t need to woo me with your muscles anymore.  It’s already a done deal.”  Steve grinned even wider.  He walked over to the bench behind them by the sparring ring, grabbing a bottle of water there.  Unscrewing the cap, he sucked it down in record time.  Tony tried not to watch too carefully, but it was pretty hard not to stare at the long line of Steve’s neck, at the way the muscles of his throat were working as he gulped, at his lips sucking on the end of the bottle.  “And you definitely don’t need to do that.”

“What?” Steve said with a gasp, tossing the empty water bottle into the recycling bin way across the room.  It went in.  Of course.  “Drink?”

“You know what.”

That sheepish grin turned a lot flirtier.  Tony didn’t quite know what had gotten into Steve today.  Not that he normally wasn’t affectionate or anything; that was far from the truth, in fact.  But he wasn’t usually so bold about it.  Steve could be fairly reserved (even in bed), so this was fun and pretty exciting.  “Come spar with me.”

“Huh?”

“Nat showed me some new things that’d be good for you.”

Tony narrowed his eyes.  “You just got done showing me up.  Not sure I want more.”

Steve rolled his eyes and athletically vaulted up into the boxing ring.  “Come on.”

As crazy as it was, Tony found himself actually hesitating.  Hesitating.  He couldn’t remember the last time he really hesitated about anything, let alone anything concerning Steve.  But he was.  And he knew why.  It was stupid and pathetic and he was much better than this bullshit about which he was suddenly worried.  Still…  “Tony?”

“Yep, babe.  Gimme a second.  We’re all not as spry as a centenarian.”  Steve gave Tony a wan look as the smaller man pushed his way up through the ropes.  He took off his sweatshirt, and the arc reactor’s pale blue light was bright in the shadowy gym.  Tossing that to the side, he bounced on his heels lightly, gathering himself for what would surely be an ass-whooping.  He wasn’t delusional; with Iron Man, _maybe_ he could take Steve on one-on-one in close combat.  Maybe.  But like this?  Hand to hand?  Steve was going to pull his punches and keep his speed under control, and he’d _still_ beat Tony handily.  Thanks to the serum, there weren’t too many people on earth who could match Steve’s strength, alacrity, and agility.  He didn’t get tired.  His bones were harder, skin thicker.  He could fight longer, and he healed ridiculously quickly.  Injuries that would permanently damage or kill a normal person barely slowed him down.  On top of that, he trained like mad, bringing his body even further beyond the peak of physical perfection the serum already afforded.  He was an expert combatant, fluid in all sorts of fighting and movement styles from kick-boxing to judo to parkour.  And he was smart, quick, clever, and tactical.  He was a super soldier, and it showed pretty fantastically.

So, yeah, no chance in hell of beating him like this.  Typically, that didn’t bother Tony one bit.  He wouldn’t expect Steve to be able to outdo him when it came to engineering or designing or quantum mechanics (although it always surprised him just how much Steve _could_ follow along).  They all had their strengths, and martial arts wasn’t one of Tony’s.  Steve had been training Tony (and the rest of the team) since the Avengers had formed, so this was hardly the first time Tony would have his ass handed to him.  This was the first time in a really long time, though, that he was somewhat embarrassed by it.  Back in the day when they’d been constantly in contention with one another, the thought of having to submit to a situation where he _knew_ he was at a disadvantage had bothered him a lot.  Now…

Well, what he wouldn’t give just to have those few years back.

“Alright, sweet cheeks,” he said after he got his brain to mostly shut up.  “Show me what you got.”

Steve came at him.  Despite knowing Steve better than he knew himself and so anticipating exactly how he’d attack, Tony couldn’t move fast enough to prevent it.  And Steve punching at his ribs didn’t hurt – Steve would never hurt him – but it did successfully knock the air out of him.  The next thing he knew he was flat on his back because Steve had swept his legs out from under him.  He was staring up at the other man where Steve had him pinned.  All said and done Steve had dropped him in a second.  He’d never stood a chance.  “If you wanted to be on top,” Tony gasped under Steve’s weight, “you coulda just asked.  I don’t mind switching things up now and then.”

Steve grinned and bounced up, reaching down a hand to help Tony.  Trying to ignore that things were popping and panging and creaking inside him, Tony grunted as he scrambled to his feet.  Quite a few things were uncooperative, joints that didn’t move quite as well as they had before and old injuries.  “I take it you’re going to educate me in the ways of not getting knocked down quite so pathetically.”

“Something like that,” Steve said.  “Here.  Back up.  Let me show you.”

Steve proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes teaching him Natasha’s new moves to break holds and counter attacks.  Tony could see immediately why Black Widow (and why he) could benefit from them.  These techniques were specifically designed to contend with stronger, bigger, faster opponents, which, as Avengers, they routinely encountered.  As he sweated and labored through the lesson, he tried not to let it bother him that no matter how he tried, he really couldn’t match Steve.  It wasn’t often that he was disarmed (well, disarmored) during battle, but it had happened enough in the past for it to be necessary that he could defend himself without Iron Man.  He hated to be a liability, and more than once in recent memory he’d had to rely on one of the others (usually Steve, Thor, or the Hulk) to get him out of a tough situation.  There were also the occasional circumstances where they were attacked in plain clothes or ambushed or whatever, and there too he needed not to be a burden.  So it was important he could fight, and thus it was important Steve (and the others, but mostly Steve) train him to fight.  Therefore, like all the other sessions he’d had, he needed to pay attention to this one.

But he couldn’t.  After ending up on the mats like a dozen times, getting winded and sore and tired faster than he thought was normal for him (of course, he could be hyper sensitive to it), he was through.  Steve looked on him when he wasn’t getting up after the latest knock down, concern etched all over his youthful face.  “Tony?”

“Need a breather, gramps,” Tony responded, wincing as he shifted to try and get more comfortable.  There was no position that was more comfortable, so he gave up and slumped down.

Steve dropped down beside him.  They lay there in silence for a bit, staring at the dimmed lights in the ceiling, shoulder to shoulder but not touching more than that.  Tony was again overly aware of just how spent he was after stupidly exerting himself on the bag and then exerting himself more trying to keep up with Steve in the ring.  He was covered in sweat.  Everything burned or stung or hurt.  He was tender and sore and exhausted.  And next to him Steve was _none_ of that.  He was hardly even breathing hard, still and serene and, well, beautiful.

Tony felt like an absolute moron.  He couldn’t believe what he was about to ask.  Really, he absolutely fucking _could not._   But here he was, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it and worrying and wondering and obsessing, so out the stupid question came.  “Do you think I’m getting old?”

He could feel Steve stiffen in confusion.  “What?”

For a second he considered telling Steve to forget it, because this was so goddamn _dumb_ , but he didn’t.  “Do you think I’m old?”

Steve leaned up on his elbow to stare down on him.  His brow was furrowed with a slightly softer version of the Captain America Frown of Disapproval.  “Where’d that come from?”

Embarrassed, Tony shook his head and laid his forearm over his eyes.  “Nowhere.  Nothing.  Forget I asked.”

“No.  What’s the matter?”

Tony sighed, trying to decide whether or not to go all in.  Steve probably wouldn’t let it go, so he might as well.  “It’s…  It’s nothing.  Just me being stupid.  The guy who came by to see me before?  My, um…  Friend.  I guess.”  _Not really._   “From way back.  Anyway, he was all sensitive about turning fifty.  _Fifty_ , Steve.  And that kinda reminded me that I’m almost forty-six.”

“You’re forty-five.  You won’t be forty-six for another six months.”  Tony gave him a withering look for trying to make him feel better with the sum total of half a year.  “What?  What does it matter?”

“I’m fifteen years older than you.”  Steve’s smile faltered just slightly, and that immediately fed into Tony’s pathetic doubts.  He covered up his emotions with babbling.  “Well, biologically.  In actuality, you’re an old, old, _old_ man.  You’re a hundred.  Ninety-seven?”

“Thirty,” Steve corrected.

“No, it’s ninety-seven.  Ninety-seven.  That’s like fifty years older than me.”  Tony winced.  “Barely.”  _Half a century.  Because I’m almost fifty._   “You know what?  That’s not making me feel better.”

 Steve shook his head.  “We’ve been together three years, and you’re just realizing this now?” he asked lightly.  Tony gave a mock glare, to which Steve sighed.  “And I’ll ask you again: what does it matter?”

It mattered.  Right now, it did.  Deep down Tony knew this was just a moment of stupid insecurity.  Even he had them from time to time.  And so what if wanted to hear Steve say that he was as young and handsome as ever?  That wasn’t vain or egotistical or any of that.  It was human.  “I just…”  He didn’t know what to say.  _Don’t leave me when I can’t keep up with you anymore._   “It’s really stupid, okay?  I know it is.  But my brain won’t shut up about it.”

Steve smiled gently.  “Your brain never shuts up.  And it’s pretty directly wired to your mouth.”  Now it was Tony’s turn to mock glare.  “Tony, this isn’t news.”

“I know that.”  Of course it wasn’t.  Aside from a snide comment or two during the media feeding frenzy right after their wedding (the terms “sugar daddy” and “boy toy” had shown up enough in one article at TMZ that Tony had personally seen to it that that writer had lost her job), no one had really said anything.  The age difference was one of those things that was _there_ but hardly noticed, never mentioned, a background fact that meant nothing.  “But it’s bothering me.”

“Well, it shouldn’t.”

“It does.”

“Because you think I should care?”  Tony nodded, feeling his cheeks burn with shame.  “Well, I don’t.  Why should I?”

“Because, Steve!”  Ugh, this was crap.  Maybe it was childish and petulant, but Tony tried to cover his eyes again to hide how stupid he felt.  Steve grabbed his arm and pulled it away.  “Because you’re you.  You’re the epitome of, well… _perfection.”_

There went the Captain America Frown of Disapproval again, fully engaged this time.  “Tony, I’m not perfect.  I’m no better than anyone else.”

“Case in point,” Tony said, poking Steve in the chest.  “You’re so perfect that you don’t even see how perfect you are.  That’s like genuine humility, not the fake kind the beautiful people usually front with.”

“Come on,” Steve said, and not entirely lightly.  The Frown was turning into the Grand Canyon of Extreme Righteous Indignation.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not going to be able to keep up with you forever.”  There.  He finally said what was at the heart of this.  Or close to it, anyway.  Steve’s frown softened with compassion.  “I’m going to get old before you.  So I’m not going to be able to fight alongside you or run the team with you or any of that.  I’m not going to be with you.”  Jesus, that hurt.

“Yeah, _years_ from now,” Steve said firmly.  He let Tony’s arm go, draping it across his sweat-soaked shirt, and brushed a hand through his hair.  He was trying to hide how much the idea of losing Tony like that hurt him, too.  “That’s not close at all.”

Tony sighed.  That was true enough.  Sure, he couldn’t keep up with the physical stuff like Steve did, but he didn’t have to.  That wasn’t his place on the team.  He was the brains and the money, and both of those were thriving like always.  Steve leaned closer.  He swept a hand down Tony’s face and chest to grasp Tony’s own hand over Tony’s chest.  He wove their fingers together on top of the arc reactor.  “Listen, I don’t care that you’re older than me.  I never have, and I never will.  I love you, Tony.  I love you now and I will love you no matter what.  What is this really about?  You’d think I’d leave you or something?”  That sounded pathetic and awful and so damn insecure.  Tony’s silence was enough of an answer.  Steve looked hurt.  “Really, Tony?  _Really?_ ”

“No, no.  I don’t think that.  I really don’t.  You’re…  It’s just…  It’ll happen one day,” Tony whispered.  “I’ll…”  Just thinking about it made his eyes burn.  It felt like weakness, but he couldn’t help it.  He was afraid of more than just Steve leaving him.  “I’ll die and you’ll be alone and I don’t want you to suffer through that.  I don’t want you to have to deal with it.”

Steve bit the inside of his lower lip, shaking his head like he didn’t want to talk about it.  He probably didn’t.  The thing was, though, they really did need to because as much they could ignore the age difference, it wasn’t going to go away.  One day it’d catch up with them.  Tony watched him work through his thoughts and expected the same, obvious response: it was _years_ away, so they had a lot of time to be together before it became an issue.  _I love you and I’m not going anywhere._   That was what he expected.

But that wasn’t what Steve said.  “We’re Avengers.  Either of us could get killed at any time.  I could die during our next fight or on an op for SHIELD or the next time aliens invade New York–”

That made it worse.  Tony grimaced.  “Steve…”

“And I’d leave you behind.  That terrifies me, too, but I try not to worry about it,” Steve said, “because that’s part of who we are and what we do.  It’s the price of it, I guess.  Your age has nothing to do with it.”

Tony could only stand optimism to a point.  That point was much higher than it used to be thanks to Steve’s love and light in his life, but still.  Even if he didn’t get sick and die one day, his age would slow him down in the field, make him weaker and more of a target.  “It has a little to do with it.”

Steve conceded just a bit.  “Alright, maybe.  But it’s just like anything else.  Aliens or terrorists or monsters or who the hell knows what.  Threats we don’t anticipate and maybe can’t fight.  _Anything_ could separate us, so you being a measly fifteen years older than me?  It’s a minor worry.  And I’m not going to think about it, because I can’t change it, so what good does obsessing do?  I love you and I don’t ever want anyone else.  I’m never happier anywhere else than I am with you.  You want to talk about perfection?  _That’s_ what’s perfect.  And if we’re together for five years or ten years or twenty or thirty or _fifty_ , I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Tony couldn’t help the way his heart swelled with love for this man who’d inexplicably found his way into his future, his arms, his heart.  “That’s a little morbid,” he quipped after getting his voice under control.

Steve grunted a chuckle.  “Well, you started it.”  He leaned down to kiss him, sweet and tender.  Tony had decided a long time ago that there was nothing so divine as kissing Steve Rogers, no matter the circumstances.  He grasped Steve’s face and pulled him closer, closing his eyes deepening the kiss.  It felt really good, like affirmation (even though nothing needed to be affirmed, but he took it anyway), and he lingered in it.  Steve pulled back after a bit.  “Good?” he said with a grin.

Tony couldn’t help it.  Maybe this was a little vain, little egotistical.  He needed his ego stroked every once in a while, too.  “And you don’t care about the–”

“The what?  The wrinkles here?”  Steve lightly brushed his thumb beside Tony’s right eye where he had crow’s feet.  “Or the little bit of gray here?”  He touched Tony’s temple.  “Or the fact that you like to sleep in and moan and groan about how much work working out is?  News flash, love.  You were like that before I married you and I still married you.”

Tony blushed a little again.  Yeah, honestly…  This was stupid.  He’d thought that before, but he could really see it now.  Steve leaving him for being older.  What the hell kind of nonsense was that?  Steve was the kindest soul in the world, the most moral and loyal, loyal to a damn fault.  He’d never leave Tony.

But Tony had to hide how ashamed he was (and how touched) by teasing.  “You’re mean.  Anyone ever tell you that, Rogers?  Mean to the core.”

“No, I’m not.”  He kissed Tony’s nose.  “Show just how nice I am if you get up and come upstairs.”

That got Tony all hot and bothered all over again.  “Really?”

“Yep.”

Tony jumped up like a spring, all energy and excitement, and Steve laughed.  “Move it, Cap.  Chop chop.”

* * *

A few minutes later, their sparring gear was discarded and the gym was secured and they were in their penthouse.  The ride up the elevator was pretty handsy, but they managed not to rip each other’s clothes off then and there (not that that would have been the first time, but Tony (and therefore Steve) owned the Tower, so if they wanted to have carnal relations in an elevator, they damn well would).  Once they were safely ensconced their bedroom though, with Tony telling JARVIS to dim the lights and draw the blinds and set everything to privacy mode, all attempt at restraint pretty much vanished.

Steve had Tony pinned up to the wall across from their bed with mouth attached to Tony’s neck and his hand slipping into the inventor’s sweat pants and Tony’s mind well on its way to blowing a fuse when the shrill beeping of a cell phone resounded.  Steve immediately stopped working on the hickey he had going and groaned.  Tony pulled him closer, yanking his t-shirt up higher on his back and driving his knee in between Steve’s legs and grabbing at his hair gently with his other hand.  “Nope.  No, no, no.  You’re on vacation.”

Steve sighed, pulling his hand out of Tony’s pants to reach into the pocket of his own.  “Probably Fury.”

Tony kissed him feverishly, so insistently that Steve moaned and let his fingers loosen around his phone enough that Tony could grab it.  He tossed the ringing, vibrating annoyance far away and onto the bed.  “Probably,” he said when he took a breath, leaving Steve panting, “which is why you’re not answering.  Remind me to show you the merits of putting people on hold.  Or I can make you a life model decoy.”

Steve’s brows furrowed.  “What’s a…  Never mind.”  His hand boldly went right back to sneaking its way into Tony’s sweatpants.  Tony gasped a pleasured moan when those long, artist’s fingers got where he wanted them – needed them – squeezing gently and stroking just the way he liked.  The world went hazy, and his head thunked back into the wall behind him.  He hooked his leg around Steve’s on instinct, holding him close, and he fumbled and scrambled to yank Steve’s shirt over his head.  It was pretty graceless, but his fine motor skills and higher order thinking generally shut down when Steve was touching him and kissing him and trapping him like this.  The wet suction of Steve’s mouth was right back on his neck, that and the light, tormenting scrape of teeth, and when Steve’s hand tightened around him and thumbed in some of the most sensitive places, Tony whimpered before he could stop himself.  “You want something, old man?” Steve teased, eyes devious as he pulled back and held still.

“You’re an asshole,” Tony gasped, so aroused that he already sounded wrecked.  All of his prowess in the bedroom was somehow always reduced to nothing when it came to Steve.  “Mean, like I said before.”

“Nah,” Steve said on a breath.  “You love me.”

“I do,” Tony answered.  “But I’d love you more if you were in me.”  Steve laughed, but he sounded well on his way to turned on beyond rational thought, too.  Tony reached for the waist of Steve’s track pants that he’d put on over his shorts and yanked uselessly at them.  “So these need to be off.  Like yesterday.”

Steve leaned back so Tony could get better access.  Tony kissed at Steve’s chest, drinking in Steve’s low moan.  He pulled on his pants, but before he could get them off, JARVIS’ voice cut through the bedroom.  “Captain Rogers.”

Tony couldn’t help an irate breath, fully intending on ignoring this and everything else other than getting Steve’s pants off and what felt to be his rather prominent hard-on in his mouth.  “J, I told you.  Privacy.”

JARVIS wasn’t going to be daunted it seemed.  “It’s Director Fury, Captain.  He seems rather emphatic that you answer him.”

Steve sighed, deep and heavy.  “Damn it,” he moaned.  Tony could tell it by the tone of his voice that he was going to be good about it.  “He has all day to call me and he picks now.”

“Inconsiderate, cockblocking prick,” Tony groused, giving Steve a cruel, tantalizing stroke through his boxers just to torture him.

Steve gasped, kissed him hard, pushed him back gently.  “JARVIS, can you send it to my phone?  Hold on.  I’ll be just a second.”  Tony let go only after another tormenting pull, and Steve choked a little on his breath, grimacing in pleasure his morals and scruples wouldn’t let him chase right now.  “Now who’s being mean.”  Grinning fiendishly, Tony watched while Steve pulled his pants back into place, staggered over to the bed, retrieved his phone, and answered the call.  “Yes, sir?  Uh, no.”  He glanced at Tony and frowned.  “No, now’s not a problem.  Go ahead.”

Yeah, being married to Captain America had a drawback or two.

Tony could tell a couple minutes into the conversation that it was going to be a long one, so he sighed in disappointment and tried to deflate his arousal.  _Not fair.  So not fair._ Wincing with how uncomfortably hard and unfulfilled he was, he headed to the bathroom for a shower.  At least he could wash the layer of sweat off him.  Deciding to linger a bit, he took his time, enjoying the hot spray, considered getting himself off (but talk about unfulfilling).  Besides, he was tired enough that it’d just be perfunctory, which was decidedly unsexy, and Steve would come back.  The fatigue in his muscles was a little draining, too, a gentle ache that wasn’t too troubling but again something he probably wouldn’t have noticed or even suffered a few years ago.  He brushed it aside, finishing up when steam practically filled the huge bathroom.  Drying off, he got ready for bed.  Then he went back to the bedroom.

It was empty.  “J, where’d Steve go?”

“He is in his office.  His call with Director Fury has become significantly more involved.”

Tony gritted his teeth in annoyance.  _Of course._   Just once, couldn’t Fury find someone else to take care of his problems?  And, just once, couldn’t Captain America _say no?_

Apparently not.  Tony huffed and got into bed, pulling the duvet up and over him and settling against the pillows.  Waiting was crap, but he was going to wait for Steve even if his shower had made him ridiculously sleepy.  For a few seconds he tried to just lay there and not think, but that never worked.  He never handled being idle well.  So he reached for the tablet beside his bed.

Right, he’d transferred Bruce’s little consulting job up here to look at it in his spare time (of which he had some now unfortunately).  Sighing wearily again, he started glancing through the files.  There were a lot of them, all from someone named Dave Galloway.  Tony recognized the name; he was an engineer who worked at a think tank out in California.  He had a team out there, a small one, a few physicists and biochemists and what have you.  Nice guy.  It seemed he was working on some sort of new polymer that had some pretty interesting electromagnetic properties.  Galloway had been slaving away on this project for years, and his life’s work was in the balance because of some pretty fatal flaws with his design.  Tony skimmed all that.  Bottom line was nobody else really seemed interested in trying to help Galloway’s project (or fund it), including the government which had repeatedly turned him down given the hefty price tag and performance issues.  So Galloway had contacted Bruce to ask him his opinions on fixing the problems, and Bruce being Bruce wanted Tony’s help.  Which was flattering and all, but Tony had a stack of work higher than a mountain, so he didn’t really have the time (or interest) to do pro bono labor for a bunch of pencil-necked geeks out in La La Land– 

“You frown any harder and your face is gonna get stuck that way.”

Tony looked up at Steve’s voice.  Steve was back, closing the door of their bedroom behind him.  He set his phone on the nightstand and finally peeled off his track pants.  He leaned over and kissed Tony.  “What did Fury want?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Steve said, which was his polite way of saying he didn’t want to get into it right now.  “Back in a sec.”  He went into the bathroom, and Tony spent a few more minutes looking over the data, but he was too tired to really digest it.  He lowered the tablet just as Steve returned.  “JARVIS, could you please get the lights?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The room went dark.  Steve padded over to his side of the bed and climbed in.  He got settled under the duvet and then leaned over to kiss Tony, licking his way into Tony’s mouth like they hadn’t been interrupted at all.  He tasted like toothpaste, sweet and minty.  Uncaringly, Tony dropped his pad on the side of the bed before pulling him on top, tangling his hands in Steve’s hair.  The blue light of the arc reactor glowed on Steve’s skin, and his eyes were soft and bright with it.  “Want to continue?” Steve whispered.

Tony sagged into the pillows and smiled mischievously.  “Dunno.  I am kinda tired.  Old man and all.”

Steve smiled right back and scooted down the mattress a little.  He pulled the duvet up and over them both as he settled between Tony’s legs, face right over Tony’s lower stomach.  “Good thing you don’t have to do any of the work,” he commented, and then he disappeared under the covers.  Hands hooked into Tony’s pajama pants, pulling them down swiftly, and then the wet heat of Steve’s mouth made the world blur.

Needless to say, he stopped thinking for a while.

* * *

It was really early the next morning, like way too early, when something rattled on the nightstand.  Vaguely Tony heard it, buzzing and buzzing like a damn bug, and he wanted to swat the hell out of it so it’d shut up because he was exhausted.  He was sleepily contemplating moving to do just that when he felt Steve’s big, warm, naked body shift beside him.  There was a little bit of a clamor and then a sleepy, “’lo?”

Okay, so the rattling was the phone.  Steve’s phone.  And Steve answered it, and now he was talking to whoever it was who’d dared to call so goddamn early, so Tony went back to sleep.

Sometime after that, it occurred to him that he was cold.  He realized why as he rolled over.  There was no warm, familiar body beside him.  No strong, secure arms wrapped around his middle and holding him close like Captain America’s personal teddy bear.  No, Steve was gone.  That was idly distressing but not altogether unusual.  Steve usually got up early for his godawful crack of dawn jogs around the city, so that was probably it.  He went back to sleep again sure of that.

That was until Steve shook his shoulder gently.  Tony blearily opened his eyes to the gray light of dawn bathing the room.  Steve stood next to the bed, and he was dressed in jeans and a nice shirt.  He had his shield slung over his shoulder.  “Hey,” he whispered softly.  “You awake, Tony?”

“No,” Tony grumbled, turning his face into the pillow.

He felt Steve’s smile.  “Gotta go.”

“Huh?”

“Mission.  Clint and Nat are coming with me.  Shouldn’t be gone more than a day.”

Apparently the asshole who’d call at whatever o’clock in the early morning was the same asshole who’d called last night and blithely caused coitus interruptus (even though there’d been uninterrupted coitus after that.  _Much_ uninterrupted coitus.  If Tony never had to move again, it’d be too soon).  “That was Fury?”

“Yeah.”

Tony blinked blearily.  “But it’s your vacation.”

A weak, unhappy smile twisted Steve’s lips.  “Happens.  You got work, anyway.”

“You’re such a good soldier,” Tony slurred, yawning and turning away.  “Go do your soldier thing.”

Steve laughed softly and kissed his hair.  “Go back to sleep.  See you later.”

Nowadays Tony was a good soldier too (well, better than he had been), and he followed orders like a champ.  In a second he was snoring into his pillow and returning blissfully to the land of Nod.  It didn’t sink in until much later that Steve had left and Tony hadn’t even said goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks for the comments and kudos, guys! Well, it's me, so things go bad here. One chapter of happiness was enough, right? :-)

Guns N’ Roses was sawing its way through the middle part of “Sweet Child o’ Mine”, and Tony was singing along with the wailing guitar of Slash.  It might have been a little off-key, but Dum-E and U and JARVIS weren’t complaining (not that they would – they knew better).  And it was probably a little loud, too, but he figured he deserved to sing loud and off-key if he wanted.  He was making solid progress today on getting stuff done, so that was awesome, and because of that, he was in a really fantastic mood.  That and thinking about last night.  Steve had been really good to him.  Not that he wasn’t always good to him, because he was.  Steve was a very giving and sweet and attentive lover.  But he’d been especially so, _exceptionally so,_ last night, probably because of Tony’s stupid crisis.  Tony was ashamed to have had it honestly because it seemed even dumber and more ridiculous today than it had before.  When Steve got home, Tony was going to show him just how much _he_ appreciated him, leave him as wrung out and well-loved as Tony had been.  That’d be fun.  It took a lot to wear out Captain America, but Tony was always up to the challenge.

Anyway, he’d finished Clint’s arrows and modified Widow’s Bite and he was part of the way through upgrading the boot thrusters on the Mark VIII.  He was an engineering hero today, a veritable powerhouse of productivity, and it was great.  Stupendous.  Fuck being a CEO.  He had this.

The music was on so loud and he was so engrossed in his work and belting out lyrics right with Axl Rose that he didn’t hear his name being called until there was a shout behind him.  “Tony!  _Tony!_   JARVIS, turn it down!”

With the music not quite so deafening, Tony realized Pepper was standing pretty much right behind him.  He set his soldering iron down on the workbench.  “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming.”

Pepper looked as fabulous and perfect as ever.  Her auburn hair was in a bun, her white business suit form-fitting, pristine, and elegant.  Her red lips curled into a smile, and she cocked an eyebrow.  “Yes, you did.  I called three days ago to tell you _and_ it’s on the company exec newsletter, which last I checked you still receive.”

Probably he did.  And probably he hadn’t read it.  Or read it and forgotten.  Either was just as likely.  “Sorry,” he said, grabbing a precision screwdriver and sticking it between his teeth as he went back to work.  “Been busy with Avengers stuff.”  It came out pretty garbled, but Pepper understood.  “You know, this and that.”

“Probably not with the new arc reactor plans I need drawn up for the Green Light Initiative,” she said, shifting her weight and folding her arms across her chest.  This was a patented Pepper look.  Every time he screwed up with the business, she frowned exactly like that, admonishing but not without affection.  And the Green Light Initiative could not afford to be screwed up.  It was truly going to be the future of Stark Industries, hopefully of the world in fact.  Mass implementation of clean energy, available first in the US but then in Europe and other parts of the world.  It could revolutionize the energy markets of the world, change the fundamental ways in which people lived.  The new arc reactor plans were key to that as they allowed the technology to be produced in a simpler, cleaner, financially friendly way.  These reactors could literally be eternal flames, providing clean energy endlessly, burning, so to speak, without fail.  “Which is why I’m here.  Remember?  Going to London to pitch them to–”

“Ah, shit.”  Now he did remember.  “JARVIS…”

“Miss Potts, I feel I must defend Mr. Stark in this,” JARVIS declared.  “He has not been ‘screwing around’ as you commonly say and as he commonly does.”

Tony rolled his eyes.  “No, JARVIS, you were supposed to help me keep all this crap straight.”

“Sir, you did not expressly ask me to remind you about this.”

“Well, I thought it was fairly obvious!  Didn’t I say to always put Pepper’s requests at the top of my to-do list?”

“No.”

Tony flushed, but before he could try to cover himself further, Pepper laughed.  “It’s alright.  I had the guys in R&D come up with something based on your last specs, and it’s good enough for the pitch.”  Tony veritably slumped with relief, and Pepper shook her head.  “When you told me Steve had a few days off, I figured that my chances of getting anything out of you were pretty slim.”  Pepper looked around, seeing the workshop otherwise empty and Steve’s couch where he usually sketched vacant.  “Where is Steve, anyway?”

Tony shrugged, pulling the screwdriver from between his teeth and sticking it into Iron Man’s boot on the desk.  “Fury summoned him to work,” he responded, trying not to sound as disappointed and disgruntled as he felt.  “So off he went with the super spy twins.”

He was never able to fool Pepper.  She winced sympathetically, grasping his shoulder.  “Sorry.  I know how rarely he gets any time off.”

“Price of being married to Captain America.”  That made him think of freaking Ty Stone again, and he’d rather not.  Truth be told, even though he was over the whole getting older thing, yesterday’s conversation still creeped him out.  And that nicely served as a reminder that he needed an excuse to get out of seeing him again.  “JARVIS, schedule something for lunch on Friday.  Something really important that cannot under any circumstances be canceled or rescheduled.  Better yet, make it the whole day.”  That should keep Ty off his lawn (and away from his husband).

JARVIS was understandably perplexed, but that didn’t stop him.  “Director Fury has been asking you to consult on new engine designs for the helicarrier.  Shall I inform him that you are ready to meet on Friday?”

 _God._   What a trade.  Ty for Fury.  Oh, well.  It was definitely an improvement.  “Yeah.  Teleconference only.”

Pepper shook her head.  “What happens on Friday?”

“Nothing.”  Tony gave up on wrestling with the troublesome circuit in the thruster and pushed away from his table on his rolling stool.  He tossed the screwdriver back.  “What time is it?”

“About four o’clock.”  Pepper set her hands to his shoulders.  For all the trouble he caused her (and he’d caused her a lot, like _so much_ ), she was still so good to him.  She’d been so happy when he’d finally made a move on Steve, both because it had put an end to his constant fretting over his feelings and love-struck yammering and because it had inadvertently brought someone else into Tony’s circle to help manage him.  He was as shitty at running the business now as he had been before Afghanistan (and not so hot on running himself, too), so having Steve there to keep him on the ball was an infinite blessing to her.  She and Steve had become close just like that, bonding over Tony’s foibles, needs, and quirks (and how much they both loved him for them).  Pepper did so much for Tony; keeping Stark Industries thriving was just the least of it.  “How long have you been working?”

“Too long,” Tony said on a sigh.  “You want to get some early dinner?  Or late lunch.”

She smiled.  “Can’t.  On my way to London, remember?”

He stared at her, processing that.  Then it clicked.  “What are you doing here then?  You already have the specs, and even if you didn’t and I’d actually finished them, you just could have called.”  Immediately his brain went to something bad.  What the hell was up with that recently?  “Oh, God, what did I screw up?”

She cupped his jaw and tipped his head up to kiss his forehead.  “Nothing.”

“Then–”

She looked flustered a moment, flustered and excited and elated all at once with her blue eyes sparkling.  “Happy and I are getting married,” she breathlessly declared.

 _Huh?_   His brain skipped a beat in shock.  “You’re…”  Pepper smiled and nodded enthusiastically.  “Wow.  I mean, wow.  Wow!”  He stood and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight.  His thoughts were still skittering – _Pepper’s getting married_ – and relief quickly came over him.  “He finally asked?”

Pepper pulled back, nodding again.  She wiped a little at one eye where there was a tiny glimmer.  “Yeah, couple of days ago.  I would have called, but I wanted to tell you in person.”  Her face fell just a bit.  “You know.”

He did know.  He and Pepper had had a thing a few years ago before the Avengers had really taken flight.  It had been sweet and good for a few months, but it became obvious not long after New York that they were living two very different lives.  Tony had become deeply immersed in being Iron Man fulltime, and Pepper had done the same with the rigors of running the company.  They’d hardly seen each other, and it didn’t make sense to stay tied together when their feelings were cooling and their hearts were distracted.  They’d stayed close friends, so much so that Pepper probably felt like she needed Tony’s blessing.

And Tony was all too willing to give it.  When Pepper had told him last year that she was seeing Happy, he’d been a little wary of it at first; Happy Hogan was the rough and tumble sort, and Pepper definitely wasn’t.  But something about it worked.  Who was he to judge when he’d fallen in love with someone who was his opposite in pretty much every way imaginable?  He smiled, brushing his fingers fondly across Pepper’s cheek.  “He’s a very lucky guy.”

She grasped his hand and nodded gratefully, taking that for what he meant it as: his approval.  “Thanks.”

“Does this mean I can’t order him around as my driver anymore?”

She laughed.  “He’s head of security now and my personal bodyguard.  He insisted I give him a promotion so that he could keep an eye on me.  Apparently you didn’t read that memo, either.”

“Nope.”  Tony beamed.  He hugged Pepper again.  “Congratulations.  You two…  You’re really good together.  Happily ever after and all that.  With Happy.”  He wrinkled his nose a bit.  “That’s a little weird.”

Giggling, she pushed him back lightly and caught another tear before it escaped her eye.  “A little.”

“Forever and ever amen.  Till death do you part.  Yadda yadda yadda.”

“Remind me not to ask you to give a speech.”

Tony laughed.  They stared at each other a moment, quiet and reflective.  Content.  They were both where they were supposed to be.  Tony really was happy for her.  She was doing a remarkable job with the company, truly in her element, and she deserved everything good that life had to offer.  Peace and stability.  Family.  For as long as she lived.

_Till death do us part._

“I need to get going,” Pepper finally said, smiling again.  She kissed Tony’s cheek.  “We’ll talk when I get back, okay?  Tell Steve I said hi.”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Tony watched her go, and she was clearly on cloud nine.  He, on the other hand…  Just like that, he felt awful all over again.

* * *

The thing about obsession was you couldn’t just shut it off.  _Don’t think about it,_ people always said.  _Don’t worry about it.  Don’t stress.  Don’t obsess._   Well, it didn’t work that way.  Tony knew from experience.  You couldn’t just _not_ think about something that bothered you.  With a brain that ran as quickly and agilely and wildly as his did, there was no ignoring a problem, no dismissing a legitimate (or crazy) concern, no switching off.  It drove Steve nuts, and Steve also tended to over-analyze and dwell on things himself like missions gone wrong and mistakes on the battlefield and matters he had no capacity to change or fix but he took them on his shoulders anyway like some sort of Atlas trying to carry the world.  Tony’s obsessions were usually less noble, like how the hell to get more power out of the arc reactor or why his code wasn’t compiling or how could he rearrange his schedule to have time to screw around with the Lamborghini.  That was one of the reasons he had a hard time sleeping, because he couldn’t get his head quiet when it was working on a problem.  Since Steve had come into his life, that had gotten better, his tendency to stay awake and slave over something compulsively until he either collapsed or figured it out.  Actually, Steve’s insistence on making sure he ate and slept had been one of the major reasons Tony had started to fall for him.  No one else, not even Pepper, had ever cared so much as to save him from himself on the regular.  Steve feeding him and dragging him to bed had become so commonplace that Tony had actually started looking forward to it, watching the clock and waiting for Steve to come down to his workshop with his usual spiel about taking better care of himself.  That had changed everything, Steve’s spiel and his care and his attention, so Tony supposed he should thank his obsessions for bringing Steve and him together.

But Steve wasn’t there right now, so this time he couldn’t tell Tony to stop, that he was being silly or stupid or ridiculous or all of the above.  So as the afternoon wore on and he sank deeper into his worries, he had to settle for the next best thing.  “Bruce,” he called as he strolled into Bruce’s lab, “you got a minute?”

Bruce glanced up from his laptop for a second before going right back to it.  The light from the screen reflected in his glasses as he narrowed his gaze and typed furiously.  “Not really.”

“Well, I need you to take one.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow in irritation, and Tony gave a shit-eating grin.  He and Bruce got along great.  Aside from Steve, Bruce was the only other Avenger with whom he was close.  That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t friends with the others, but they didn’t get him like Bruce got him.  Bruce and he had the same sort of personality, overly intelligent and overly curious and overly obsessive.  A touch of mad scientist, to be frank.  To both of them, there was never a question not worth answering.  Leaving something unsolved and not understood was not an option.  So Bruce was a good choice for this (well, the only choice with Steve, Natasha, and Clint gone and Thor probably with his girlfriend somewhere across the pond, but that was irrelevant).  Actually, given what he wanted to ask, Bruce was the _only_ choice.  There was no one else in the world more knowledgeable.

Bruce sighed in submission.  “Okay?”

Tony plunked down in the chair on the other side of the desk.  He sighed heavily.  “Is Steve going to live forever?”

A look of pure confusion crossed Bruce’s face.  “What?  And did you look over that stuff I sent you?  Galloway called and he needs it back and I can’t send it without your input.”

“Not yet,” Tony confessed.

“Can you do that please?  I know you’re busy but–”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him.  “Are you avoiding my question?”

“Huh?  No.”  Bruce leaned back from his laptop.  “Why?”

“Because you dodged it.”

“Because _you_ didn’t get around to doing what I asked you to do days ago,” Bruce accused, though not hotly.  Tony just stared, not looking away or even blinking, and Bruce started to wilt under it.  Despite his anger issues, Bruce was putty when you played him right, and Tony knew how to do that.  In no time at all, Bruce gave in.  “Okay, what.”

Annunciating every syllable, Tony asked again.  “Is Steve going to live forever?”

“What kind of question is that?  And no.”  Bruce turned back to his work.  “I don’t think.”

Tony couldn’t tell if that was teasing or truthful.  It was probably a little bit of both, and after stewing about _this_ now all afternoon (there was a theme to the last couple days it seemed), he didn’t quite have the patience for it.  “You don’t _think?”_

“If you’re asking me if Steve is immortal because of the serum, the answer is I don’t _think_ so,” Bruce repeated, rubbing his chin as he looked over his work.  “But I don’t have the data to know for sure one way or the other.”

“Well, then, postulate.  Theorize.  Speculate.”  Tony threw his hands up in irritation.  “Do what scientists do.  Guess.”

Bruce opened his mouth, probably to argue that there was more to science and scientific theory than just _guessing_ , but instead he sighed and shook his head.  “I highly doubt Steve will live forever.  But if you really want to know if he’ll live a lot longer than a normal person, it’s certainly possible.”  Bruce blew his lips out, threading his hands at the back of his head and leaning back in his chair more.  “I don’t really have the data, like I said.  Steve’s not too keen on letting me poke and prod him any more than necessary.”

“I know.”  Steve’s aversion to doctors made pretty good sense considering his youth and all the time he’d spent sick.  Then the SSR and their scientists.  Then SHIELD and _their_ scientists.  Getting him to submit to medical procedures was a challenge, even when he was hurt, so research was somewhat off the table.

“Thus I don’t know for sure,” Bruce said again, and he was the one speaking slowly for emphasis this time.  “I haven’t been able to study the serum that much, at least not as much as I want.  I can tell you that it’s increasing the longevity of some of Steve’s cells significantly beyond that of normal human cells.”  Tony didn’t like the sound of that.  “His body is also quicker to produce new cells.  From what I noticed, his telomeres aren’t shortening, for what that’s worth.”  Not much.  Tony knew telomeres had something to do with chromosomes and cellular reproduction, but beyond that he wasn’t up at all with the latest on aging research.  “I can also tell you other things that you already know.  Steve can’t get sick and it’s unlikely he’d ever be afflicted by the normal ailments that come along with aging, cancer and heart disease and dementia and what have you.  So, yes, it’s probable he might survive longer than a normal human lifespan.”

“How much longer?”

Bruce stared at him like he’d grown an additional head.  He didn’t know what to say for a moment.  “I…  Tony, what’s this about?  You know I can’t answer that.”

“Decades?  Centuries?”

“I don’t know.  I couldn’t begin to guess.  But it could be.”

 _Jesus._   For some inexplicable reason, that made it worse.  Steve wasn’t just going to outlive him.  He could outlive him by a _lifetime_.  By more than one lifetime even.  Tony felt a little sick, standing from the chair and heading to the windows that lined the side of Bruce’s lab.  He stood there, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants, to watch the city.  It was quiet with dusk, the sky gray save for the thin stripe of gold and yellow where the sun was setting.  The serum had quite a few (perhaps unintended) side effects.  Steve needing to eat like a horse and Steve not needing much sleep and Steve being so sensitive (that was fun sometimes) and Steve able to push himself without really trying (that could be _really_ fun, too).  This was probably another of them, something that had again been at the edges of Tony’s thoughts but not a concern that had ever really bothered him until now.  Until this stupid jaunt down insecurity lane.

This was more than just insecurity, though.  _I could be just a blip to him._   Tony was forty-five.  The average life expectancy for a man in good health in the United States was seventy-six years.  So that gave him about thirty years, though he could probably push that – he was exceptional, beyond the bounds of a standard deviation or two above the mean in a lot of other ways.  Why not that?  But even if he lived another fifty or sixty years, lived to be a hundred, Steve might still not look or feel a day over twenty-five.  That was how old he’d been when the army and Tony’s father had pumped him full of the serum and vita-rays and turned him into Captain America.  Just a kid.  A young man.  Steve could stay that, a perpetually beautiful, strong, healthy young man, while Tony aged and withered and died.  Furthermore, if Steve lived _decades_ beyond him, untouched by time…

Their love could be a moment in his life.  A blip.  Like one of the stars winking in the darkening sky, winking out when the sun rose.  _Way to make myself feel small and insignificant._

“Tony?”

Tony sighed and looked away.  “It’s weird,” he said, and it was.  Weird and unsettling.  He turned to Bruce.  “I was feeling shitty because I’m older than him, but strangely enough…  It kinda doesn’t matter.  He and I could be the same age.  I could be younger.  He’d still outlive me.”

Bruce closed his laptop gently, realizing that this was more than just Tony being obnoxious while he was trying to work.  “Probably.  Does that… make you feel better?”

That might have been Bruce fishing for whether or not he’d fixed Tony’s problem or genuine curiosity.  Probably both.  Tony really considered it for a moment because, as tempted as he was to say no, maybe he did feel a little better.  “Kinda?”

Bruce got to his feet.  “It’s not like this is anything new.  The serum’s amazing, but it was there before you married him.  You were never going to live as long as he does.”

“No.”

“And it’s not like you can change it.  So why worry?”  This conversation was beginning to sound strikingly similar to the one he’d had with Steve yesterday.  _Enjoy what you have while you have it._   Not much consolation to an obsessive worrier, but it was true.  “No reason to.”

Tony quirked a smile as Bruce came to stand beside him.  “Whatever happens will be, huh.”  He supposed that made sense coming from Bruce.  Bruce clasped his shoulder and smiled.  “You wanna go get some dinner?”

“Sure.  But I will nag you about the work I need you to do.”

Grimacing, Tony pushed him lightly toward the door.  “Fine.  You want Italian?  Or–”

“Sir,” JARVIS suddenly said.  “There is a priority call coming in from Director Fury.”

Tony rolled his eyes and continued walking.  “Nope.  I don’t care what he wants.  He already screwed us over once this week, so he can shove it.  He can deal with his own damn–”

JARVIS’ voice was soft, grave.  Worried.  “It concerns Captain Rogers’ mission, sir.”

All the sudden Tony’s blood went cold.  His heart stuttered in his chest, and every nerve in his body tingled with fright.  He ran back toward the lab’s workstation, Bruce following him.  Grabbing one of the glass monitors, Tony angled it around and tapped its power supply furiously to get it on.  “Put it through here!”

It seemed to take forever for Fury to appear on the screen, but in reality it was only a second.  If that.  Tony wanted to jump out of his skin he was so anxious.  “What?” he demanded.

Fury looked… troubled.  The man was a stone cold bastard most the time, playing his hand close, and Tony trusted him about as far as he could throw him.  The fact that he was obviously upset about something only heightened Tony’s terror until he could hardly bear to breathe.  “Stark, we need you on the helicarrier right away.”

“What’s going on?”

Fury hesitated.  _Hesitated._   And avoided his question.  “You need to get out here.  Now.”

“Nick–”

“I don’t want to tell you this over the phone,” Fury said, eyes soft and voice quiet.  He seemed strained, desperate.  “Please.”

Tony’s heart stopped then juddered into a pounding page again.  He felt sick.  _Tell me what?  Tell me what?  Tell me!_   But the words never reached his mouth, and all he could do was stagger away.

* * *

It was a marvel that Tony had such good muscle memory.  Actually his brain could operate pretty well when higher order cognitive function was swallowed up by distraction, and his brain was positively consumed now.  Tony had been doing a lot of uncharacteristic worry the last couple days about some pretty stupid shit, but the amount of anxiety thrumming through him now made that seem like happy times.  As he flew the quinjet south over the Gulf of Mexico to where the SHIELD helicarrier was off the coast of Texas, he was lost in a storm of fear.  _Something’s happened to Steve.  Something’s happened to Steve._   He was jumping to a conclusion.  No one at SHIELD would tell him anything until they arrived, so he had absolutely no information to back up his fears.  His fears were driving all the same.  _Something’s happened to him._

Steve was probably fine.  _He was fine._ Tony wasn’t big on senseless optimism, but he was indulging in it now almost automatically.  Almost as a defense.  This had to be something else.  Maybe something weird had happened.  Maybe Steve needed his help.  Maybe the op had gotten bigger than he, Natasha, and Clint could handle, so Fury was calling for the rest of the Avengers to assemble.  Maybe something had happened that was just too sensitive to talk about over a phone line or too complicated to explain from a distance.  _But why wouldn’t Fury just say that?_ It didn’t make sense.  _No._   Tony knew this was about Steve, not the mission.  Something had happened to Steve. 

Tony wasn’t a religious man.  He never had been and never would be.  But he was praying.

Bruce had been stiff and silent the entire flight from the Tower, pacing the jet behind the cockpit.  Tony was trying to ignore him because his own nerves were bad enough without Bruce compounding them.  It wasn’t too hard.  He could hardly focus on anything for more than a second.  It was probably thanks to that their destination actually snuck up on him.  Ahead the helicarrier was a brick of dark gray on a roiling ocean the color of slate.  Tony’s hands were shaking as he guided the jet down through the clouds.  Rain pelted the windshield, and Bruce sat down and strapped in as turbulence rocked the aircraft.  Tony was taking the descent a little fast, but every second was one more he couldn’t stand.  The aircraft streaked over the runway through the low, soupy clouds before coming about.  He flipped switches to power down jet engines and to bring the thrusters online, and prepared to land.

They touched down a few minutes later.  Despite the horrendous weather, Fury himself was waiting for them on the flight deck.  That didn’t mean anything good.  It was very windy, and the rain was absolutely miserable, a warm, torrential downpour drowning the deck of the ship.  “What’s going on?” Tony demanded as he thundered down the rear ramp of the jet before it was even fully lowered.  Fury didn’t answer him, but that might have been because Tony’s voice was lost in the ruckus of the flight deck and the rain.  Fighter jets were taking off.  “Fury, what’s–”

“Come on!” Fury ordered, and he, Tony, and Bruce took off across the deck to the doors.

They were barely inside when Tony yanked his hood down.  He’d bothered with a jacket, but it didn’t matter anyway.  He was soaked.  He didn’t care at all, grabbing Fury’s arm roughly as the crew secured the doors.  “Where’s Steve?”

Fury’s black leather coat was glistening with rainwater, and his dark skin was shining with it.  For some reason that made him seem impotent.  “Just come with me,” he said softly.

Tony didn’t have patience for this bullshit.  “Where is he?”

“Not here.”  Fury turned and started walking through the gunmetal gray corridors.

Not here as in Steve wasn’t here?  Because that was pretty fucking obvious.  Or not here as in the situation was so bad he wouldn’t discuss it out in the open?  Tony seethed in frustration and mounting panic.  He was barely holding it together as it was, and every second this went on the thread of his control frayed further.  “Tony,” Bruce said calmly, taking his arm and pulling him deeper into the corridor, “let’s just go.”

It was torture to simply follow without knowing the truth.  Bruce stayed at his side, keeping him on track as they went with Fury deeper into the helicarrier.  Thankfully they didn’t have to go too far.  Just to the med bay.

_The med bay._

Steve was hurt.  God, he was hurt and he was hurt bad enough that they’d had to call him.  Steve had been injured before; with the way he used his own body like he used his shield, that was inevitable.  But it had never been serious enough to warrant an emergency like this.  Somehow Tony was electrified with horror and completely numb with shock at the exact same time.  Before him the med bay was completely overrun with chaos.  Everywhere there were SHIELD soldiers and civilians, and a lot of them were wounded.  Tony glanced around and there was blood, bandages streaked with red and dumped to the floor.  Burns, _severe_ burns.  People were crying.  Doctors and nurses were rushing about, desperately trying to contend with the casualties.  The cacophony was awful.  The fluorescent lights were too bright, and the room spun.

Hill spotted Fury and joined them.  She glanced at Tony and kept her voice quiet as their small group moved through the bay.  “STRIKE units are securing the rig.  We’ve managed to get fire teams from Galveston and New Orleans out there, but it’s…”  She glanced at Tony again and didn’t finish.

Tony didn’t let that go.  “It’s what?” he snapped.  He didn’t care for Hill and Fury on a good day.  Right now, soaked to the bone and scared out of his mind, he couldn’t find any patience.  “What the hell is going on?”

Fury led them into a private room in the back of the bay.  He gave a weak sigh as the doors swished shut and secured them inside, away from the hysteria.  “We need to try to keep calm about this.  We need to–”

“Need to _what?_ ” Tony snarled.  “Somebody fucking tell me what’s happening!”

He was so lost in his panic that he didn’t notice Natasha until she came over to him.  “Tony,” she gasped, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him away gently.  “Take it easy.”  She was banged up but okay, it seemed.  She was also absolutely filthy, covered in ash and soot to the point where it was caked in her hair and her skin was nearly the color of smoke.  Her eyes were red.  “Just take it easy.”

Tony glanced around frantically and saw Clint was there, too, his arm in a sling and bloody grime all down the side of his neck.  Natasha and Clint but no Steve.  Steve wasn’t there.  _Steve wasn’t there._

_Oh, God._

Clint, too, had eyes that were wet and dark, and he came over, shaking his head with a wince that didn’t appear to be from his injuries.  “Tony, maybe you should sit.”

“Where’s Steve?” Tony asked, his voice rough and breathy.  Even though he _just_ looked and there was nothing, he glanced around once more, harried and frantic and _Christ, where is he where is he where is he–_

“Tony.”  Someone was right beside him, taking his hand, holding it tight.  Someone else was pushing him into a chair, and he went despite how rigid with panic he was.  And another someone was crouching in front of him.  No, that was the same someone who was holding his hand.  It was Natasha, and she had his other hand, too.  She was clasping them both in hers on top of his knees and staring at him.  “Tony, look at me.”

He wasn’t looking at her?  Everything was out of focus, distant and distorted, but he made himself meet Natasha’s eyes.  He could see now that they weren’t just red from smoke.  They were wet, too, and filled with pain.  “Where’s Steve?” he whispered.  “Just please… Please tell me where he is.”

Black Widow was known the world over as a cold-blooded killer, a master assassin so good at controlling her emotions that it was impossible to know the woman beneath those cool eyes.  The Avengers knew her, though, and they knew Natasha Romanoff cared deeply, cared as much as any of them, maybe even more so because they were the only family she’d ever had.  So when she struggled with tears, it truly meant something.  And she was struggling now, struggling hard.  “Last night,” she started in a voice that shook with just how strong she was trying to be, “SHIELD got a tip that a pirate group known as the Black Skulls was going to attack the New Venture oil platform off the coast of Galveston.  The Skulls are extremely dangerous; they’re responsible for dozens of attacks all through the Atlantic and the Gulf in the last six months, plus they have financial links to terrorist groups.  New Venture is one of the biggest rigs for Roxxon.” He knew all of this but he couldn’t find it within himself to stop her.  “We… we thought they were interested in taking the rig hostage, ransoming it.  Once we verified the lead, we had to make a move.”

Again, he _knew_ all this.  Natasha lost her courage and faltered a moment.  He could see her trying to gather herself.  Clint pressed closer, uncharacteristic helplessness all over his face.  She glanced at him, and that seemed to afford her some courage.  “So we did.  That’s where we went this morning.  When we got to the rig, the pirates were already attacking it.  They were already on the platform, and they had taken most of the workers hostage below.  We fought our way down, got them out.  Steve…”  Tony could see the cracks in her calm mask again, and they were widening.  Her grip on him turned tighter, almost painfully so.  “There were still some people missing, so Steve went further down to search for more hostages.  He, uh…”  Her eyes welled.  “He walked into a trap.”

“What does that mean?” Bruce demanded.  His voice was ragged with horror.  “What the hell does that mean?”

“He was in the generator room.  He chased a couple of the pirates there, and they…  They’d loaded the room with C-4.  And, um…”  She whispered something faintly in Russian, shaking her head against what was clearly mounting grief.  “Steve couldn’t stop them.  There wasn’t enough time.”  Her face collapsed and she looked down.  “They set the bomb off.”

It was silent a moment.  Tony knew where the story was going.  He knew because it was obvious.  There was only one way it _could_ end, particularly with the facts ( _Steve’s not here_ ) as they were.  But he couldn’t even fathom it, let alone think it, let alone _accept_ it.  The world blurred as his eyes filled with tears.  “What next?” he asked.  Natasha didn’t look up, so Tony glared at Clint, at Hill, at Fury.  _“What?”_

Natasha was the one who said it, though.  “There isn’t anything more.  He’s – he’s gone.”

 _He’s gone._   Two words that made no sense to him.  Absolutely no sense.  He was Tony Stark, and he was a genius, a powerhouse of intelligence and mental acumen and sharp senses and quick wit.  His brain had been likened by many to a computer, capable of storing and processing information at a rate that was staggering.  Yet those two little words meant nothing.  “What?”

Clint set his good hand to Tony’s shoulder.  It was covered in grime that smudged onto Tony’s expensive polo shirt.  “Tony,” he murmured.  “Steve…  He’s dead.”

 _He’s dead._   Of course, there was a part of his brain that _had_ processed that, connected the words and understood their meaning.  Once that was done, everything was inevitable, an avalanche of anger and shock and horror rolling over him and crushing him down.  It was so strong he thought he’d be ill.  The room was spinning anew.  Blood was rushing in his ears.  His chest was tight, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe but vaguely he knew he was panting.  The silence was pounding at him like thunder.  Over the roar of it all, he heard his own voice.  “No.  No, he’s not.”

Clint looked away, face contorted in a grimace.  Natasha seemed to have regained a bit of her composure, enough raise her head again.  She didn’t let go of Tony’s hands, not even to wipe the tears cutting through the soot on her cheeks.  Tony had never seen her cry.  _Never._   “There’s no way,” she said, her voice surprisingly firm as if she was giving it all her strength for his sake. “There’s no way he could have gotten out.  The – the explosion…  It destroyed the top of the rig.  It nearly caused a blowout with the drill.  And the fire burned hot, Tony.  It burned so hot…”  She was losing herself again.  “He couldn’t have survived it.”

“No,” Tony gasped.  He was on his feet in a blink, even with Natasha trying to comfort him and Bruce trying to still him and Clint was there, too, taking his shoulder now to steady him.  He shrugged them all off.  “No.  Did anyone check?  Did anyone go out there and _check?”_

“The platform isn’t stable yet,” Hill declared quietly, almost shamefully.  “They haven’t gotten control of the fire.”

“They haven’t…”  A million awful thoughts burst through Tony’s head, and his heart pulsed in terror.  “I have to get there.  He could be alive.  He could be – and you left him?  Fuck, we need to go _right now_.  His suit – his suit can withstand temperatures up to five hundred degrees.  I designed the polymer myself.  His suit would protect him!  We need to–”

Hill winced.  “The fire burned in excess of two thousand degrees.”

Tony blanched.  _God._   Natasha was right.  There was no way _anyone_ without the right gear would survive that.  Even in Iron Man, it would be dangerous.  His eyes stung, but still – _still_ – he grasped for straws.  Grasped for hope.  “Maybe he wasn’t there.  Maybe he got out before.  Did you think of that?  Have you tried to raise him on comms?  Have you–”

Fury frowned.  “The second the bomb went off, he went silent.  His comm is down, and we can’t track it.”

Tony practically vibrated with anger.  Goddamn it, he’d go track it himself.  He’d do it all, find Steve, save Steve, because Steve wasn’t _gone_.  “I want to get out there.  Right now.”

Looks of concern were immediately shared among the group.  Even Bruce, who seemed rattled to his core, was quick to grasp Tony and stop him.  “Tony, if that rig is still burning, it’s a death trap.  It’s best to wait until they get the situation stabilized.”

Just hearing that hurt like a knife in the back, like the shrapnel cutting its way into his heart.  He knew it was true.  If the rig was burning with the well not completely capped (or even with it capped), it was beyond dangerous to be searching through the wreckage.  _But Steve could be trapped there.  Steve could need me.  He’s not dead.  He’s not.  He needs me.  He needs me!_

Before he could even argue, though, and break away to get back to the jet and get his suit, Fury was in his face.  “The second we can get rescue crews there, we will.  I swear to you, Stark, we’ll pull the whole damn place apart to find out what happened.”  His eyes one clouded with grief, real and true.  “But…  You need to be prepared.  The odds aren’t good.”

Perhaps he should have accepted that.  He should have prepared himself, with his friends close, their eyes wet and their bodies trembling with pain.  He shouldn’t have let himself hope.  Shouldn’t have let himself believe.

But he did.

* * *

When they finally reached the burning rig less than an hour later, Tony couldn’t fathom what he was seeing.  _Nothing_ could have prepared him for this.  “Jesus,” he whispered, his throat tight with a sob.

Natasha had been right.  The entire top of the New Venture rig was simply _gone_.  What remained was a charred husk.  Obviously the explosion had begun in the platform’s belly and radiated outward.  The sides were more intact in that they had some structure left, but it was just ragged, burnt bones poking up into the sky with almost everything else blown away.  The blackened steel skeleton was bare and horrific, and pale smoke was still wafting sadly from the wreck.  The debris from above that hadn’t been burned to nothing had fallen inward, creating a crater of sorts.  Cranes and gantries were collapsed across the hole.  It was a minor miracle the disaster was this contained, and Tony knew that.  Ships from the Coast Guard had quelled the blaze with help from the now petering rain.  The emergency crews had managed to cap the well before they’d lost control of the drill; if they hadn’t done that, the oil spill into the Gulf would have been catastrophic.  There were dozens of casualties, but almost all of them were the pirates.  Steve and the SHIELD team had rescued the majority of the hostages before the explosion.  Only a few of the hundred or so Roxxon workers weren’t accounted for.

And Steve.

Seeing the disaster immediately tempered Tony’s hopes.  It was like a deluge of ice water dumped on a tiny, meager candle.  No one in the epicenter of that detonation, an explosion strong enough to blow the top floors and towers of a rig off, hot enough to _melt_ steel, could have possibly survived it.  Tony had held onto some faith that this couldn’t be real, that it couldn’t be happening, that it wasn’t bad as what the others were saying.  He’d clung to that all these long minutes since he’d arrived on the helicarrier, and now he knew.  _He knew._

But he couldn’t accept it.

“There, sir,” JARVIS quietly declared.  The AI had brought the schematic of the New Venture up on the HUD.  The generator room had been right in the lower middle of the rig.  Even at a distance, Iron Man’s scanners detected debris from the collapsing sides of the rig had fallen into the area, burying part of it.  Maybe…  Maybe Steve could be alive somewhere under that.

It was almost like JARVIS could read his mind.  “I am not detecting any life signs, though it is impossible to tell at this distance and with the numerous pockets of fire still burning within the remains.”  Tony was streaking toward the rig, thrusters on full blast.  Behind him a couple SHIELD quinjets were following.  Natasha and Clint (who refused to stay behind, even with his injured arm) were aboard one with more STRIKE personnel to assist with search and rescue.  In addition, the Coast Guard had dispatched more ships, and choppers were filling the rainy sky.  Fire crews were already atop the more stable areas searching for the missing workers and Captain America.  “It may still be impossible to scan more accurately within the rig, and I would further suggest extreme care.  I am detecting multiple zones of structural instability.”

“I’m going in,” Tony declared over the comm link before zooming to the side of the rig.  The whole damn thing looked like it was about ready to collapse into the ocean at any moment.  He hovered near a massive hole in its side, scanning frantically for both signs of life and any imminent danger.  JARVIS was right; there was so much residual heat in the wreckage that it was impossible to parse hot spots from humans.  “Fuck.  I’m searching by hand.”

So he did.  He led the way inside, checking for areas that needed further fire suppression and survivors as he did.  The emergency crews carefully made their way down to him and followed his directions without argument.  Natasha and Clint used the grappling devices of the rescue squads to lower themselves into the middle of the rig where the damage was the most severe.  Where Steve had been.  They and everyone else were wearing fire suits; thanks to the rain and the firemen’s efforts, the temperature inside was no longer hot enough to be dangerous, but there was no sense in risking anyone’s safety.  Tony could tell they were both in pain and exhausted; their faces were pale under all the filth, drawn, but they were fierce and driven.  Clint had torn off his sling and was directing the other STRIKE personnel and SHIELD emergency crews in the search.

Natasha stuck closer to Tony as they worked their way deeper into the rig, Tony using the blueprints to figure out where they were since everything was broken and burned beyond recognition.  More than once their way was blocked and they were forced to find an alternate route.  More than once too Tony carried Natasha over a section of floor that was simply gone or too damaged to support them.  She called out to the teams behind them, indicating where it was too dangerous, and JARVIS was quickly making a map.

After nearly an hour of trying to find a path to the interior, after searching desperately and calling Steve’s name and scanning and moving wreckage and digging to no avail, Natasha closed her eyes and leaned into what looked like a section of wall that must have fallen from above.  Everything down here was so badly burned in comparison.  “Tony,” she called.  Tony knew what she was going to say before she even said it.  “Maybe we should stop.”

He didn’t even answer, leaving her against the debris and pushing down a mangled, twisted hallway and into another, large room.  He wasn’t stopping.  He was going to find Steve. 

Matching the blueprints with what they were seeing was difficult, but he was pretty sure…  _Thank God._   This was the generator room.  “Steve?” he called loudly.  His voice echoed through the dark, gloomy place.  The mess of debris from the floors above collapsing obscured the daylight.  Water dripped down from the rain and the firefighters’ hoses.  There’d probably been equipment spread around the room, but there was nothing now.  Nothing but ash and a few mangled lumps and shadows.

However, Tony wasn’t deterred, not even in the face of solid proof that the explosion had all but destroyed the room and the subsequent blaze had burned hot enough to reduce everything left to soot. He turned around, Iron Man’s scanners working in a frenzy.  There were hot spots everywhere.  “Steve?  Answer me, please.  Please, baby.”

“Sir, if he was in here when the bomb went off…”  JARVIS’ voice was soft with grief.  “It is… unlikely there would be anything left.  He would have been incinerated.”

Tony’s eyes flooded, but he refused to cry.  No, he growled and went to work.  He needed light and help.  “Everyone, in here!” he called.  Then he used Iron Man’s lasers to cut his way through the burned debris overhead to make a path down for the rescue teams.  He worked fast, sweating, jaw gritted and eyes narrowed and emotions stifled.  With the armor’s weapons and strength, he’d managed to punch a hole up through the multiple floors above him to the top in no time.

Things moved quickly after that.  It was a blur, something that Tony’s senses registered but his brain didn’t fully process.  He didn’t process much of anything, not Clint leading the teams down into the room, not Natasha appearing again at his side, not everyone fanning out and checking the wreckage with renewed fervor.  He simply kept at it, frantically looking and not even for Steve at this point because it was dreadfully clear Steve _wasn’t there_.  There had to be some sign of him, though, and Tony had to find it.  Some sign, some _hope_ , that he’d escaped, gotten out, gotten somewhere else.  Steve was so strong and smart and fast; if there’d been a way to survive this, _he would have,_ so Tony had to find out what had happened _._   Where he’d gone.  He couldn’t let himself pause even for a second because if he did the truth would catch up with him.

There was no avoiding that, it seemed.

“Sir, a meter to your left…  I am detecting vibranium.”

Tony’s heart leapt in his chest so fiercely that he was nearly dizzy with the jolt.  He turned, the HUD flashing the location of JARVIS’ finding for him.  Vibranium was so rare a metal that any hint of it here had to be a sign of Steve.  It was stronger than steel with a much higher melting point.  Breath locked up in his throat, he stepped to the spot flashing on the screen and dropped to his knees.  With his gauntlets, he dug in the wet, sloppy ash, pushing aside a charred hunk of metal.  A glint of silver immediately shone in the dreary light.  Tony stared at it in horror for a second, not realizing what it was at first.  Hands shaking, he lifted the item out of the mess.

It was Steve’s wedding ring.

Tony almost dropped it like it had burned him through the suit.  Bile burned the back of his throat, and the world spun.  He was going to be sick.  Iron Man felt like it was constricting around him, closing in tight and claustrophobic, and he choked.  JARVIS opened the face plate for him as he pitched forward a little, the ring clenched in his hand.  Steve’s ring.  Tony had found the small amount of vibranium many years ago in his father’s estate after he’d died.  He’d never done anything with it, never thought it was worth anything other than money, at least until he’d decided to ask Steve to marry him.  Then he’d known why he’d kept it, known in his heart what he was meant to make with it.  He’d given the ring to Steve at their wedding with all his heart, and he could still picture Steve’s smile, the light in his eyes, the love on his face…  The ring wasn’t flashy at all.  It was a simple, elegant silver band that matched who Steve was, strong and unbreakable and indomitable, and it also exactly matched the one on Tony’s own left hand. 

 _Steve’s ring._   Steve never took it off.

That meant…  That meant it was all that was left, because he’d…  _No._ Tony gasped and gasped, on the verge of hyperventilating.  _No._   That was the only thing he could think.  _No, no, no.  No no no no–_

“Tony?”

Natasha’s tentative voice barely pierced the haze of his hell.  He looked up, eyes wet and wide, mouth open and useless.  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel at least not anything beyond the pain cutting through him.  Natasha’s eyes darted to his slowly opening hand, and when she saw what was there, they welled again.  She dropped to a crouch right beside him.  There was a particular frown on her face, like she’d gone along with coming here and searching like crazy and holding onto some desperate hope all while _knowing_ it would lead to this.  Humoring him, really, because like she’d said before: _there was no way Steve could have survived._   “Oh, Tony,” she murmured.  “Tony.”  Despite the mess and the armor, she wrapped her arms around him.  “I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry!”

Tony choked on a sob, shaking hard enough that the suit rattled.  “JARVIS,” Natasha whispered, and JARVIS released the helmet from the armor.  She pulled it off so she could get her arms more firmly around him and pull his face into her shoulder.  Threading his hands through his hair, she held him tight as he quaked.  He couldn’t rightly say how long he knelt like that, Steve’s ring tight in his palm, Natasha trying to hold him together.  All he knew was that it hurt.  _It hurt._

Steve was gone.

“No,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.  He pulled away from Natasha, pushing himself to his feet, scrambling and staggering because this couldn’t be real.  Still.  It _couldn’t_ be real.  There had to be some other answer.  There had to be!  “No, no, I can’t – I can’t.  He’s not – there’s gotta be something…  I have to…  I have to–”

_He can’t be dead!_

Tony ran into Clint, and Clint frowned, backing away.  Tears were streaking through the filth on Clint’s face.  He didn’t say anything at all as he handed Tony the fallen shield of Captain America.  The paint was burned completely away, leaving a scorched silver star covered in ash.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Warnings for sadness...

Denial was a powerful thing.  Tony had always known that.  He’d been in denial after his parents had died for years, ignoring his grief, how much he needed to deal with his feelings and mourn properly.  The same went for what Stark Industries had really done with its weapons, how those weapons were damaging the world.  And the same went for how his life had nearly fallen apart after the Ten Rings, during the palladium poisoning.  He’d been reckless and uncaring and rude.  He’d buried himself in his addictions, drinking and tinkering and partying and hiding just how hurt he was with appearing like he absolutely did not care.  Denial had been his _modus operandi_ once upon a time.  Denial and distraction.

Now he couldn’t find it within himself to embrace either.  He sat in the command center on the helicarrier.  He was alone, but that was only because he was in the conference room and everyone else was in the situation room beyond the large glass window.  In here it was peaceful, quiet aside from the ever-present hum of the ship.  Outside, it was anything but.  Tempers were taut.  Bruce was taking it hard, much harder than Tony would have thought.  He and Steve were friends of course, but they’d never been as close as Steve was to Natasha or Thor.  Steve’s relationship with Bruce was the same as his with Rhodey and the same as Tony’s with Natasha, in a sense.  Friends via a significant other.

Still, Bruce was teetering on the edge of losing it, and that was obvious with every sharp question, every flash of his eyes, and the recurring winces on the faces of the others.  They were going over the mission, Clint and Natasha and the STRIKE commanders, with Bruce and Fury and Hill and Sitwell and other people Tony didn’t know.  They were arguing about what had gone on, how the pirates had gotten the jump on them with the bomb, how _no one_ had realized what was happening until it had been too late.  They were speculating that maybe the whole thing had been a trap, a setup to get Steve away from the rest of the team to take him out.  But they couldn’t be sure of that.  No one was certain about the pirates’ true motives.  Not a single one had survived the attack and subsequent fire, so there was no one to ask.   

As Tony sat alone in the conference room, he decided that was all fine.  The others could argue and debate and try to lay down blame for Captain America’s death.  As far as he was concerned, they were all to blame.  Additionally, Bruce could be on the brink for him, because he was just too numb to manage anger right now.  Or grief.  Or even interest in what had happened that had led to his husband’s murder and the deaths of a nine Roxxon employees and the destruction of hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of property and resources.  It was all beyond him.  He couldn’t make himself care.  He couldn’t even make himself cry.  He was supposed to cry, wasn’t he?  That seemed like what people did when their husbands died.  That was normal, to come apart and be overwhelmed and simply _cry._

But he couldn’t.  He just sat there in the silence, alone, slowly turning Steve’s wedding ring over and over again in his fingers.  Turning it and staring at it and watching the bright fluorescent light shine off of its newly cleaned surface.  The first thing SHIELD had done when everyone had come back from the rig was have the forensic team hassle Tony into getting access to the ring.  He knew why; they needed to check it for evidence of Steve’s DNA.  It wasn’t going to be conclusive that he’d been incinerated in the explosion even if they found any since Steve always wore the ring and no one else would have touched it.  Tony had been reluctant to let it go, but he hadn’t put up much of a fight.  Again, he’d been too numb to argue, too numb to even force himself to realize _what_ they were doing.  Taking evidence because Steve’s body was _gone_ , burned away to nothing but a few cells here or there.  All that was left.

That previously all-consuming sense of illness had quieted to a constant twinge of nausea in the back of his throat, and he turned Steve’s ring over again, slid his middle finger through it so that their rings were side by side on his hand.  It barely fit over his knuckle.  Steve’s ring was actually a little smaller than his because Steve’s fingers were surprisingly thin and fine-boned.  He remembered the first time he’d really seen that.  It had been the night he was going to ask Steve to marry him, which had been something of a comedy of errors.  He smiled just thinking about it.  He’d gone to such lengths to make the whole thing perfect, planning a nice night out to one of Steve’s favorite places for dinner and then it was off to Paris for the weekend, during which he’d planned to pop the question at some point (he’d needed time to actually drum up the courage to do it, so he’d figured he’d give himself a few days in the most romantic city in the world to get it right).  Tony had booked it all, spared no expense, got everything ready for it to be the best time of Steve’s life.

Of course, they were Avengers, so nothing ever went as planned.  A group of mad scientists had attempted to turn Los Angeles into the next zombie apocalypse, so that wonderful evening of love had turned into a disastrous brawl in Hollywood.  Needless to say, after barely winning a grueling fight, the two of them had dragged themselves back home, staggering to the shower and then to bed.  As they’d laid there, both still reeling with adrenaline and the rush of the battle and how close they’d all come to having their brains eaten…  Steve had just blurted it out of nowhere.  _“You wanna get married?”_

_“What?”_

_“Married.”_   Steve’s eyes had been so bright despite the late hour and the exhaustion in them.  _“You know, tie the knot.  They still call it that?”_

Even now, Tony could remember just how flabbergasted he’d been.  He’d been laying on Steve’s chest, so he’d propped himself up on his elbow and glared down at him.  _“You want to get married?”_

Steve had blushed.  _“I just…  I feel like it’s time, you know?”_ He’d ran his hand down Tony’s arm.  _“I love you, you love me, and we can and it’s just like any other wedding…  Which is a big deal for me.  I don’t want to hide how I feel about you.”_

That was all true, but it hadn’t been what was bothering Tony.  No, he’d wanted to know who had spilled the beans because this couldn’t be coincidence.  There were a couple of likely culprits, Pepper and JARVIS at the top of his list.  And Thor.  Thor couldn’t keep a secret for anything.  _“Who told you?”_  

Steve hadn’t understood.  _“Told me what?”_

_“About tonight.”_

_“What about tonight?”_

_“Don’t try to play me, Rogers.”_

At that point Steve had _really_ looked confused, and Tony realized right then and there that, despite his frustration for having his surprise engagement weekend ruined, Steve hadn’t known.  Steve had simply been thinking the same things he’d been thinking.  Love.  Being together forever.  Becoming each other’s family.  Not having to hide what they had.  They’d never discussed it at all, but Steve had _known_ , just like Tony knew, that this was right.  It _was_ time.

Tony had lain back down, so warm with happiness, that he couldn’t even care all his amazing plans had gone to hell.  _“I was going to…  Tonight, Steve.  I was going to ask you.”_

Steve frowned.  Tony had been able to feel it against his hair.  _“You were going to ask me to marry you during the zombie fight?”_

That had been a joke, and Tony had socked him in the stomach for being such a jerk.  _“No, you asshole.  I was going to…  I was going to make it special.  I had plans, you know, romantic dinner, fantasy getaway, weekend in Europe…  The whole nine yards.”_

Steve had kissed his hair.  _“Don’t need special.  Just need you.”_   And Tony smiled into his shoulder, so proud at that.  The room went quiet while he basked in his contentment.  After a moment or two, though, Steve had sighed softly.  _“So you’re not going to answer?”_

_“Answer what?”_

_“My question.”_

_“You know, asking me to marry you after the zombie fight isn’t a whole lot better than doing it during the fight,”_ Tony had chided with a smile.

Another frown.  _“You don’t want to?”_

_“Didn’t say that.  But you just sucked the wind right out of my sails, so I need to stew for a while before saying yes.”_

_“Okay.  Let me know.”_

_“I will.”_

_“Because I’m not laying here waiting or anything.”_

_“You can wait because I’m brooding.  Yep, brooding.  This is my brooding face.”_   Staring at his fake frown and falsely angry eyes, Steve had shaken his head, grinning.  _“Damn it, Steve, it was going to be glorious.  Glorious!  And you and a bunch of zombies ruined it.  I’m pissed.”_

_“Sorry.  Next time tell me when you want to propose and I’ll make sure the bad guys lay off for a bit.”_

_“You do that.  You’re Captain America.  They listen to you.  Even zombies.”_

_“About as well as you do.”_

_“This isn’t fair.  I was going to woo you so hard…”_

_“Is this a competition?”_

_“Always is.  And you weren’t going to know what hit you.”_

_“A car, I think.”_   Steve had gestured to a little sore area on his side.  _“Right here.”_

_“I’d kiss it and make it better, but I’m too mad right now.”_

_“Sadness.  And you can still woo me on the honeymoon.”_

_“What makes you think I’m saying yes?”_

_“Say yes, Tony.”_

Tony had glared at him.  _“Fine.”_

_“Fine?”_

_“Yeah.”_

The banter had suddenly gone silent.  Right after that, though, they’d both broken out laughing, kissing and holding each other tight and weaving their hands together on Steve’s stomach.  That was when Tony had noticed that Steve’s fingers were a little smaller than his, so he’d have to resize Steve’s ring just a bit…

There was a ruckus outside, and Tony jerked from his thoughts.  He’d been absently slipping Steve’s ring on and off his finger, and he almost dropped it.  Something wet was on his face – an errant tear – and he wiped it away as he stood and turned around.

Thor was there.  Tony didn’t know who’d called him, but he’d arrived, and he was horrified and furious.  The boom of his voice seemed to shake both rooms as he towered over Fury and demanded to know what happened.  Tony found himself moving for the first time in what felt to be forever, his feet walking him out of the conference room and toward the others.

Everyone went silent at his appearance.  They were all staring at him.  Thor was the first to approach, crossing the distance between them in a few huge strides.  He was dressed for war, his battle armor gleaming in the light, his red cape fluttering at his heels, his hammer held tightly in his hand.  The second he looked at Tony, his face crumpled in pain unlike anything Tony had ever seen in him before.  “Tony,” he greeted in a forlorn rumble.  “I am so terribly sorry.”

Apparently the absence of a corpse was not enough to deter anyone from considering Steve dead.  Denial could only carry him so far, though.  They had Steve’s shield, Steve’s wedding ring.  The forensics team was over there searching for more DNA evidence in the room full of ash and soot and charred wreckage.  That was likely the most confirmation they were going to get, and it was nothing.  _Nothing._   Christ, how had Steve died like this?  He’d deserved so much better.  There was no body.  Nothing to bury even.  No sign of him other than a ring and a shield.  Maybe, if they were _lucky,_ a scattering of genetic material to mark where he’d spent his last moment on earth.  _That was it._ All of Steve’s strength and courage and generosity, his huge heart and unending goodness and beautiful body…  It was as if he’d been wiped out of existence.  Snuffed out.  _Burned out._

A jolt of anger finally burst through Tony.  Now he cared.  And now _he_ wanted to blame someone for this.  “Where were you?” he snapped before he could stop himself.  Thor blanched at the question, blue eyes wide and teeming with tears and shame.  Tony didn’t back down.  That rage he hadn’t been able to summon before…  It was coming hot and hard now.  “Huh?  _Where were you?”_

“I – I did not know there was danger,” Thor stammered, and his huge frame seemed small and impotent as he shrank.

It was so goddamn irrational, but Tony didn’t care.  He turned to them – to _all_ of them – and spat fury.  “Where the hell were all of you?  If you knew these people were bad, why didn’t you send in all of us to deal with them?”  That was directed at Hill and Fury and Sitwell, at all the SHIELD personnel gathered before him.  “Why didn’t you call for the Avengers?”

“Stark, we didn’t know,” Fury softly argued.  “We had no idea the pirates meant to blow the rig.  Our intel said they were interested in ransoming it–”

“Fuck your intel!” Tony spat.  “It was fucking wrong!  You sent Steve into a trap!”

“Tony, please,” Natasha whispered.  Her blue eyes were wide, wet all over again, and he could see what she wouldn’t say.  _This won’t make it better.  This won’t bring Steve back._ “That’s not how it happened.”

He didn’t care.  He didn’t fucking care if this wouldn’t change a _thing._   Now that it was free, his anger was boiling and bursting through him like superheated water from a geyser, and he couldn’t stop it.  There was no capping this well.  This well was going to _burn_.  “And what’s your excuse, Natasha?  Come on.  Why the fuck was Steve down there _by himself?”_

She went even whiter.  Normally she’d never stand to be questioned like that, but losing Steve had clearly hurt her severely enough that she couldn’t manage to react with anything but abject horror.  Her lips barely moved as she spoke.  “He ordered us to get the hostages out.  Get them to safety.”

“He did what he always does,” Clint quietly added.  “He put their lives first.”

“And you let him,” Tony snarled.  “You let him go down to that room alone.”

Natasha’s own anger surged.  “We were following his orders, Stark.  _His orders._   He made the call.”

“You should have stopped him!”

“He made the call,” Clint said more sternly, stepping between Natasha and Tony, “and it was the right one.  The platform was engulfed in a damn firefight.  Nat and I needed to protect the hostages and get them out of there.  That was the mission, and Cap knew it.”

Tony squeezed Steve’s wedding ring in his hand so hard it hurt.  “You guys let him die down there _alone_ ,” he hissed, his entire body thrumming with hysteria.  Clint flinched like he’d been struck.  Natasha grabbed his shoulder.  “Don’t you tell me there was no other choice.  Don’t you fucking tell me–”

A SHIELD tech came into the room, a young man who looked terrified, and whispered something into Hill’s ear.  She paled and grasped Fury’s arm and seemed ready to relay the information to the Director.  Tony didn’t have the patience for bullshit theatrics.  “What?  _What?”_

Everyone turned to Hill.  She was normally so cold and stoic, but she nearly shied away under the scrutiny.  “Stark, I don’t think you should…”  _Don’t you dare._   Tony’s glare was as sharp as a knife, and Hill closed her mouth.  She hesitated a moment, glancing among the Avengers and Fury, before heading to the situation room’s main monitor.  “One of our crews recovered the rig’s black boxes.  Apparently the security cameras in the generator room were functioning up until the blast, and they were automatically transmitting their data to the hard drives in real time.”

That didn’t make sense for an awful second.  It was pretty astounding, considering Tony’s technical expertise.  But Hills’ words did click eventually.  There were cameras in the room.  _They had footage of the moments leading up to Steve’s death._

Tony felt sick.  The low-level nausea was peaking again, and the pounding of his pulse between his ears was unbearable.  He barely felt Bruce touch his shoulder, Bruce who was the calm voice of reason again.  “Tony, you don’t have to see this.  Maybe you should–”

“Play it.”  His voice sounded so strained and weird that he didn’t recognize it at first, hadn’t even realized he’d spoken at all.  He stared at the blank screen where Hill stood.  He was simultaneously horrified beyond the pale and more driven than he could ever recall feeling.  If he watched this, he would never forget it.  Never be able to _unsee_ it.  It’d be with him forever, in memories and flashbacks and nightmares.  It would haunt him, hurt him.

But he couldn’t _not_ watch it.  “Play it now.”

“Tony,” Bruce said again, trying to reach for him.

_“I said play it now!”_

The cry echoed through the suddenly silent room.  Even the techs and people outside on the helicarrier’s bridge were speechless, pale and stricken as they stood and turned.  Tony couldn’t catch his breath, staring furiously at the still darkened screen.  Hill’s gaze shifted from Fury to Clint and Natasha and then to Bruce and Thor before finally settling on Tony again.  He refused to be cowed.  Maria nodded to herself and touched a few places on the interface beside the monitor.  “The, um…  Our analysts were able to link up the audio from comms to the video so we can track what happened.”

The image winked to life.  It was definitely from security footage.  There were actually four video streams put together in separate squares, probably different cameras around the room.  The room was what one would expect; it contained large boxy pieces of equipment, pipes and cables, cabinets and tools.  And – _Jesus Christ_ – in the upper right image Tony could see a couple of darker lumps on the floor distinctly human shaped.  Bodies.  It wasn’t clear if they were dead or alive.

And that wasn’t the worst of it.  The C-4.  There were packs and packs of it on the upper left, taped to a huge and heavy crate.  A couple of pirates were rushing to finish setting the bomb up.  They were wiring it all together sloppily, as fast as they could.  The audio didn’t match, and that was because it was as Maria said: the open SHIELD comm of the battle above.

 _“The platform is not secure!”_ yelled someone Tony didn’t recognize.  _“Do you copy that, Cap?”_

 _“Shit.”_   That was Clint’s voice.  Beside Natasha, the archer stiffened.  _“We have a problem here.  Head count doesn’t match what we were told.  We’re missing three hostages.”_   There was sobbing and shouting in the background.  The people Steve, Clint, and Natasha had rescued.

 _“What?”_  And that was Steve.  The sound of Steve’s voice sent a shiver down Tony’s spine, even though he’d just heard it that morning.  Now it was laden with tense concern, the way it so commonly was when he was leading the team in battle.  _“You’re sure?”_

On the screen the pirates were getting more frantic, clearly barking at each other.  _“Yeah, one of the guys said they took them below.  Down to engineering.  They wanted them to open the power supply room.  Fucking hell…  We need to find them.”_

 _“Why there?”_   That was Natasha’s voice again.  She looked away, biting her lip and battling fresh tears.  _“They’re going to kill the power.  The drill could blowout.”_

_“SHIELD already has teams en route to secure the well, but we need to get the people out!”_

Steve’s reply was firm.  _“I’m on it.  Get these people to safety.  STRIKE, can you provide cover?  Barton and Romanoff are coming up with civilians.”_

 _“Steve, something’s not right–”_   Tony’s wet eyes shot to Natasha, to Natasha who’d _known_ something about the situation was off.  Who’d had a bad feeling or a sense of foreboding or _something_.  Who’d had that and still let Steve go.  _“You shouldn’t do this alone.”_

 _“Nat, there’s no choice.  Clint can’t protect this many people on his own, and if they took more civilians down, we can’t leave them.”_ Of course, Clint had been correct.  Steve prioritized the safety of the civilians, and two Avengers chasing down stragglers was a waste of resources.  Steve gave a short sigh, and his voice softened.  _“I’ll be fine.  I’ll make a final sweep and find the missing people and follow up right after you.”_

There was hesitation.  _“Alright.”_

 _“We’re coming up!”_   Clint again.  _“We need the platform entry on the south side secure and air support!  Immediate evac!”_

_“Roger that, Barton.  We’ll have you covered.”_

The chatter from the fight grew louder and more desperate, and Steve went quiet for a bit.  Natasha and Clint were talking quickly though; from the sound of it, she was in the lead with the line of hostages, and he was in the rear, trying to keep the people calm while guarding them from the remaining threat.  On the video, the pirates in the generator room – there were four that Tony could see – were finishing up.  One had the detonator, some sort of small, standard radio device, and he was in the back right corner of the room where the C-4 was stacked high.  There was no way out of there.  It really was a trap.

 And what they were about to see was inevitable.  It had already happened, and there was no way to change it.  Tony was praying all the same, caught between horrified, rapt attention and wanting so badly to look away.  There was a clamor and more shouting.  Two of the pirates were running to the entrance of the room.  _“I’ve made two hostiles!”_ Steve shouted.  _“They’re in the generator room.  Hostages have to be inside!”_

There were no hostages alive to save.  One of the pirates was shooting them.  If they hadn’t been dead before, they were now.  Then he went and hid behind one of the power relays.  _“Are you okay, Cap?”_

_“On my way in.”_

_“You need to hurry!”_

_“Clint, we have to get these people out of here…”_

_“Shit, this isn’t good.”_

_“STRIKE, we’ve got civilians in the hot zone!  Where the hell’s our air support?”_

Tony didn’t care about that at all.  In the video on the lower right, Steve was fighting his way into the generator room.  He was engaged with the two pirates, both with AR-15s they were unloading without much care for aim.  Watching Steve fight was always amazing.  He was so fast, so powerful, and he took down the two thugs effortlessly.  His shield glinted in the dim light of the room as he rammed it into the chest of one before whirling and flinging the other hard enough into the far bulkhead that guy convulsed when he hit.  _“Two more down,”_ Steve announced.  _“Status?”_

 _“We’re nearly out,”_ Natasha replied on the recording.  Beside Clint, she was watching with a deadened gaze.  _“Clint’s hit.”_   Clint shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut in shame.  His arm was back in a sling now.

On the screen, Steve took cover behind a pile of crates as another pirate shot at him.  He had his fingers pressed to his ear.  _“Bad?”_

_“No.”_

_“I’m fine, Cap.”_

That emboldened Steve enough to move, and he did like lightning.  He threw his shield, and it streaked from one image to the next, changing angles as it switched cameras.  It bounced off the grating of the floor, hit the bulkhead to the left and then the ceiling before slamming into the pirate shooting at him.  The guy never saw it coming and went down hard.  Steve was there in a blink, kicking the man’s head to knock him out before smoothly retrieving his shield.  Then he saw the bodies.  _“Damn it,”_ he whispered in anger as he knelt beside them.

Tony’s eyes flicked to the screen with the pirate lying in wait and holding the detonator.  The guy was nervous, restless, fidgety as he lurked in the trap.  _God, no._   _“Hostages are dead.”_ Steve’s voice was grim.

 _“Steve, get out of there.”_   That was Natasha.

The pirate with the detonator moved suddenly, holding a handgun.  He wasn’t even trying to aim at Steve, just shooting to get his attention.  And got his attention it did.  Steve had his shield in front of him as bullets hit metal and sparked all around him.  He rose to his feet and charged deeper into the room.  _No.  Go back.  Please go back.  Please please please–_

No amount of praying could stop it.  Steve appeared in the image on the upper left, where the pirate with the detonator stood in the corner of the room.  Steve’s back was to the camera.  It was impossible to see his face as he realized what was happening, but Tony could hear it in his voice.  Horror.  Panic.  _“Get everyone off the platform!”_ he ordered hoarsely as the pirate leveled the gun at him.  The man clenched the detonator close to his chest.  _“They’ve rigged the room to blow!  Get everyone off right now!  Get out!”_

 _“What?”_ someone gasped.

_“Fucking hell…  Move, move, move!”_

_“Cap, what’s happening?  What’s–”_

_“You don’t want to do this.”_   Steve was taking a cautious step forward.  His voice was level, even, but Tony knew him too well to be convinced.  He was terrified under a façade of calm.  _“A lot of innocent people are going to die if you do.”_

It was pretty obvious there was no negotiating.  This wasn’t a man threatening catastrophe out of desperation.  This wasn’t someone so scared as to be willing to do anything to prevent himself from being arrested.  This was _planned.  “Only one that we care about,”_ the pirate sneered.

Tony still couldn’t see Steve’s face.  God, he wanted to see it.  He _needed_ to see it.  Even though he knew what it would look like, how much it would _hurt_ , he had to.  He could picture it.  The dawning realization.  The mounting fear.  The last second Steve had likely spent wondering if he should risk attacking the man and trying to stop this or simply accept his fate.  Tony’s heart shuddered, and a cold sweat bathed him.  _Look away._   Some part of his mind was imploring that, but he didn’t listen.  _Look away.  Look away!_

Even if Steve had wanted to act, there was no time.  _“I’m going to hell, Captain America,”_ the pirate hissed, thumbing the detonator, _“and I’m taking you with me.”_

Somehow it was still a surprise when the bomb went off.  Tony jolted at the roar of it, at the burst of light on the screen.  Steve had decided to attack.  He’d been charging forward, trying to stop this, but it was too late.  In that split second between when the explosives were detonated and the blast reached him, he dropped to his knees, hiding behind his shield.  His face turned toward the camera, revealing eyes squeezed shut and gritted teeth and terror and maybe tears – maybe, but that was it.  The fire consumed him, and the videos went dark.

Time moved again.  The situation room was silent.  Deeply, miserably silent, like it had turned into a vacuum where senses failed and nothing was right.  Tony could feel himself again after a few moments.  His hands were clenched into fists.  His cheeks were wet.  His heart was barely beating, his lungs seized up, his stomach twisted.  His limbs felt rubbery and infirm, but they were somehow still holding him up.  There were people around him, faces that he couldn’t process.  It didn’t matter.  Something was hot and firm and unyielding in his palm.  _Steve’s wedding ring._

Steve was dead.  There was no denying it now.

“I’m going home.”  Tony had some vague sense that that was his voice, that he was talking, that he was moving, shivering, walking, running.  That the others were yelling after him, terrified for him.  He didn’t stop, though.  He made it out into the hallway, staggering with the world spinning again.  It was a minor miracle there was a bathroom right there and that he had some measure of mental functioning to get himself into it and into a stall.  Otherwise he’d have thrown up all over the floor.

* * *

He did make it home.  He wasn’t sure how he got there.  He had some scattered, hazy memories of Bruce assisting him out of the bathroom on the helicarrier after he’d puked his guts out to the point of dry heaving, of Natasha and Bruce helping him clean him up.  They probably brought him back.  The team, that was.  Yeah, that seemed right.  He thought he could remember laying on the bench in the back of the quinjet, Thor close to him as Clint flew them back to the city.  And he thought Thor and Clint had helped him inside the Tower, maybe got him to the penthouse he shared with Steve.  Maybe.  At any rate, somehow he’d ended up standing here, in their bedroom.  Alone.

It was so damn quiet again.  Tony stood there staring through unseeing eyes, wavering in the stillness.  He could hear Steve’s voice in a million memories.  Steve laughing at something he said and Steve talking on the phone and Steve whimpering in pleasure and Steve crying with a bad nightmare and Steve whispering how much he loved him.  Ghosts in the silence, because all of it wasn’t real.

No, what was real was their bed, dressed because the cleaning people had come and done it since Tony never did.  What was real was Steve’s blue jacket on the back of the chair in the sitting area and half-drunk bottle of water on his nightstand and the book there on the Iraq War he was halfway done reading.  Steve’s sketchbook on the coffee table and his pencil stuck in the binding.  A bunch of tablets and files from SHIELD were there, too.  They should have been in Steve’s office, but obviously he’d forgotten to take them back.  Steve’s track pants from the night before were gone, probably collected by the cleaning staff to the laundry, but his towel from the shower he’d taken before leaving was hanging on the open door to the master bathroom.  Little parts of Steve everywhere.  Pieces of him.  Like the ring in Tony’s jeans pocket.  All that was left.

He couldn’t stand looking at any of it.  The fear was gone.  The apathy and numbness and denial had vanished.  The anger had abated.  Even the shock…  Even that was abandoning him.  All that was left, buried under everything else…  The bedroom blurred, and a sob crawled up Tony’s throat.  He’d done a decent job so far at keeping himself from crying, but he couldn’t fight it anymore.  Not with Steve all around him.  Their home.  Their bedroom.  Last night they’d lost themselves in each other.  So many times in the past, they’d loved one another here, far beyond just sex and pleasure and physical intimacy.  The bond between them was severed, bleeding, and for the first time, Tony felt it.  He _really_ felt it, staring at Steve’s side of the bed where Steve had asked him to marry him, where Steve had sat up late some nights reading or working with his fingers carding lightly through Tony’s hair as he’d dozed beside him, where they’d laughed and talked about stupid things just to talk, where Steve had held him when he’d lurched awake from his own nightmares, where Steve had laid the first time they’d made love, looking up at him with soft blue eyes filled with wonder and adoration as Tony had slid inside him like he’d never fathomed being this close to anyone.  Those memories.  _All that was left._

There was no way Tony was sleeping here tonight.  Not in the bed that was haunted by the ghost of Steve’s touch and Steve’s warmth.  It would smell like Steve, feel like Steve, but it would be empty and cold because Steve was dead.  That wasn’t happening.  _No fucking way._

Bile felt thick the back of Tony’s throat, and tears stung his eyes, and he was staggering away toward the bathroom.  He didn’t throw up again, even though he kept closing his eyes and seeing Steve’s terrified face as the fireball of the explosion loomed before him.  _Get out of here,_ his brain ordered, and Tony grabbed things.  Grabbed his toothbrush and their toothpaste and his own razor, ignoring Steve’s razor and Steve’s shaving cream and Steve’s toothbrush and stuffing it all into a bag even though he remembered right then that the bathroom in his workshop probably had all that.  That was where he was going.  His workshop.  But, God, even there he’d see Steve, see him on the couch there where he liked to sketch or see him making an adorable fool of himself outside the windows while trying to get Tony’s attention or see him approach with a worried frown and a plate with a sandwich on it when he’d come to make sure Tony ate.  The common room, where they’d cuddled in front of the TV late at night.  The gym.  The kitchen.  The command rooms and armory and theater.  Malibu or the 5 th Avenue mansion or the beach house in the Bahamas or the lodge in Aspen.  Every room, every place.  Even the fucking garage in the Tower.  He’d helped Steve fix his bike down there, and a few minutes into it they were making out more than working.  There was no safe haven, no part of his life Steve hadn’t touched, hadn’t changed, hadn’t filled.

No escape from the truth.

Tony was back in the bedroom before he realized it.  That stark emptiness was too much to bear.  He was beyond any sort of rational thought, stumbling because his arms and legs weren’t working right and his sight was blurry with tears.  Somehow he made it into the closet, the massive walk-in that Steve always complained was bigger than his entire apartment back in Brooklyn.  The lights came on automatically, chasing away the blackness and revealing the long lines of his clothes on their hangers.  His expensive suits and shoes and dress shirts and thousand dollar jeans.  He went to them, pulled two off the hangers, clumsily grabbed some t-shirts.  He was not going to come back here.  Not for a while.  He needed to get away.

But he didn’t.  He turned and looked and caught sight of Steve’s clothes on the other side of the room.  Steve had far fewer than he did, far fewer than half, so most of his side of the lavish space was empty.  Still…  There was Steve’s nice dark gray suit, the one he wore whenever Tony dragged him to business functions.  Steve’s dress shirts, whites and blues and grays.  Steve’s polos and slacks.  T-shirts.  A henley or two.  The expensive leather jacket Tony got him last Christmas that he was always too nervous to wear because he was afraid he’d ruin it.  Sweatshirts and hoodies, a few of them adorned with the SHIELD logo.  That “Property of Stark Industries” one Tony had given him as a gag gift on Valentine’s a few years back right after they’d started seeing each other.  That was Steve’s favorite.  He’d worn the hell out of it, because SI, even in its silly merchandizing, didn’t skimp on quality (although Tony used to tease him that he just liked everyone knowing to whom he belonged, and Steve had blushed and complained but never quite denied it).  It was soft, durable, had lasted through countless washings and was about as plush now as it had been in the beginning.  Tony reached for it, his hand shaking as it brushed over the heather gray shoulder.  His fingers closed tight around it, and he shuddered, dropping his arm full of clothes as he stumbled closer.  It came off the hanger when he pulled, when he fell, when he yanked it close to him and buried his face in it.

He screamed into the fabric.  Screamed loud and hard.  He couldn’t stop himself.  He screamed and screamed until his voice was hoarse, until there was no air left in his lungs or energy in his body.  Until he simply couldn’t anymore.  Even then, even when his voice failed him and broke off, his heart was still hemorrhaging and the pain wouldn’t stop.  He clutched the sweater tighter, squeezing it against him, tears blotting into the cotton as he just curled up in all that remained of Steve and cried.

* * *

That first night he slept in the closet.  The next, he at least had the sense to crash in his workshop.  He was pretty sure he spent all day holed up there.  He pulled out the couch Steve liked and moved it to the storage room, unable to handle looking at it.   Then he’d sat at his desk, hunched over it, surrounded by his work and his inventions and his bots.  DUM-E and U were uncharacteristically quiet; maybe JARVIS had told them what happened.  They’d always loved Steve so much, loved the fact that he took care of their master.  They were still with grief.  Tony was, too.  He hadn’t moved, just stared lifelessly at his projects, at the things he’d been working on before the call from Fury.  Clint’s arrows and Widow’s Bite and the faulty thruster in the Mark VII.  He couldn’t bring himself to care, not about them or anything else.  Steve was dead.  _Steve’s dead._

That was how he lived for a while.  He couldn’t really say how long.  It was like he was drifting on an ocean with no way to get to shore.  No way to even _see_ the shore.  And he didn’t care.  He was pretty sure the others had tried to talk to him once or twice, but he had JARVIS be his guard dog and no one breached the workshop doors.  He had the windows tinted to the point where he couldn’t see out and the others couldn’t look in.  He was isolated, lost in his own world where time passed but meant nothing.  He might have slept.  He might have eaten.  He might have tinkered.  Thought.  Dreamed.  Remembered things because his brain never shut off.  Maybe.  It was all a blur.

He was certain that last night he’d gotten low, really low, and tried to drink.  Back in the day, that was how he’d handled a lot of things, searching for oblivion in a bottle of scotch or bourbon or tequila or whatever was available.  He hadn’t drunk like this since he’d nearly died from the palladium poisoning, since straightening himself out.  He tried to lose himself in it, remembering the pleasant distance, the nice numbness, the shield the alcohol could be between him and his pain.  He’d wanted that again because he frankly couldn’t see any other way out.  He wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions.  He never had been, not without Steve to guide him and love him and show him strength and compassion.  And Steve wasn’t there.

He’d downed a third of the bottle before he’d come to his senses and realized what he was doing.  How far he was falling.  How much he was _dishonoring_ the man he’d become, the man Steve had loved.  And off to the bathroom he’d gone again, so sick with an empty stomach and what he was doing.  He threw up all the poison he’d swallowed until he was sobbing hard, curled around the toilet and tasting acid in his mouth and wishing God would just take him, too.  He figured that was something else he was supposed to do after losing the love of his life.  Pray for it to end just so he could see him again, be with him again.  Survivor’s guilt.  He’d laughed about that, laughed that laugh of a man stretched too thin and too brittle.  He’d survived because he hadn’t even been there with Steve.  Steve had died alone and afraid.  _Nobody_ had been with him.

That had only made Tony cry harder.  It was just another night he’d cried himself to sleep.  Every damn night he’d done that.  _That_ he knew for sure.  He’d never cried so much in his life.  But he’d never felt this unsettled, this off-kilter, this completely ungrounded.  So many times he’d imagined Steve’s voice, thought he’d felt Steve’s hand, smelled Steve’s hair, tasted Steve’s lips.  Seen Steve’s shadow, his face in a smile, his beautiful blue eyes filled with love and life.  God, it was torture.  There was still no escaping it.  Part of him felt like he absolutely deserved it, going through this like a ritual fucking penance for letting Steve die (even though he knew that was completely irrational – there was no way he could have known, no way Natasha or Clint could have known, no way _anyone_ could have stopped it).  Part of him just didn’t want to do anything other than lay there and let the tears trickle like a goddamn leaky faucet all night.  He recognized the throes of depression.  He was deep in them.

And part of him, the biggest part of all, just didn’t want to face a world without Steve in it.

“Tony?”

Tony forced open gummy, aching eyes and saw white tiles and thin gray lines of grout, a blur of them.  Tiles and grout and white tennis shoes.  He groaned, tracing the jeans connected to the tennis shoes up to the person above.  Blinking repeatedly cleared his vision enough that he could focus.

Pepper’s face was pale with worry as she looked down on him.  “God, Tony…”

Fuck, everything hurt.  His head was pounding.  His stomach was roiling.  His back and neck and, well, pretty much everything else was extremely unhappy he’d slept on the cold, hard, unforgiving bathroom floor right next to the toilet.  Wincing, he tried to sit up, and Pepper dropped to a crouch beside him to help.  With some effort, they both got him sitting on the closed toilet set.  She cupped his unshaven jaw and lifted his face.  “Tony…”

“He’s gone, Pep.”  His voice sounded weird to him.  He’d talked to himself a lot over the last few days, talked to Steve (even though Steve wasn’t there despite his dreams and memories), but this was the first time he’d really _talked_ to anyone else.  It felt wrong.  And he sounded awful.  He shivered, slumping, and she waited until she knew he was steady before reaching to get him a cup of water.  “He’s not coming home.”

“Here, drink this.”  She helped him do that, and the water tasted better than he deserved.  It was cool and sweet.  Considering his tongue felt like a foul lump of crud in his mouth, that was such a relief.  He gulped it all down and she went to refill it.  Letting him hold and handle the cup this time, she knelt before him again.  Her eyes were wet, but she was bravely keeping her grief in check.  “I saw the scotch out there.  How much did you drink?”

She knew about his problems with the bottle.  Hell, she’d _lived_ through them once or twice (his birthday party in Malibu a few years back came to mind).  “Some,” he groaned.  “Tried to.  Couldn’t.”

She was relieved, gently stroking his hair.  “Good.  You don’t need that.”

“How’d you…  How’d you get in?”

“JARVIS.  He’s worried about you.”  Pepper frowned.  “We’re all really worried about you.”  _Worried about me.  I’m not the one who died._ “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

 _I’m alone._   Tony choked a little on his breath, that ocean of hellish misery that seemed to be constantly churning inside him swelling anew.  Pepper frowned and cupped the back of his head and drew him close.  He barked a dry sob into her shoulder.  Gently she pressed him there, held him firmly, shushing him and rubbing her other hand up and down his sweaty back.  Christ, having someone else touch him just felt wrong.  Part of him definitely preferred the embrace of the bathroom floor and his useless memories.  “He’s gone,” he whimpered again.

“I know,” Pepper breathed in his ear.  “I know.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut.  They, too, were dry.  He supposed that made sense.  There couldn’t be any tears left to cry after all this.  Shivering, he clutched her tightly and held on.  It was like now that he had a connection with someone, he couldn’t bear to let it go.  She obliged him, letting him cling to her and shudder through his grief.  The minutes wore on, long and silent, and little by little, Tony felt himself start to emerge from his anguish.  It was stupid and trite, but she was like a life preserver, tossed to him where he was drowning in that dark, endless ocean.

She cradled his jaw anew.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He was too spent to argue.  He let her pull him up and lead him over to the shower.  He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d changed his clothes was (or washed) so he probably smelled pretty fantastic.  She didn’t care, though, pulling his sweat-crusted shirt off.  The arc reactor was glowing faintly.  Vague memories drifted across his brain, memories of staring at it over these last few days and wishing for it to just shut off because the fucking shrapnel shredding his heart would be less painful than this.

God, he needed to stop.  He was still dishonoring the man Steve had helped him become.

Pepper worked his jeans off.  “Can you handle the rest?” she asked lightly as she pressed the wall-mounted pad beside the shower to turn on the water.  Tony couldn’t find it within himself to jest, so he just nodded.  She smiled.  “I’ll find you some clean clothes.”

The shower felt good.  He stood in the hot spray for quite a while, staring into nothingness and just letting the water work its magic on his neglected body.  Losing himself in the feel of that was nice.  So was zoning out and letting his brain take a hiatus.  He eventually found the wherewithal to wash himself, grabbing the shampoo and the body wash and getting the job done.  Stepping out, he found a towel waiting for him as well as a clean pair of jeans, a new pair of boxers, and a plain maroon t-shirt.  He brushed his teeth and hair and got dressed.  Didn’t bother with shaving.  That felt like too much work.

Outside Pepper was tidying up his workshop, even though she didn’t need to.  Apparently he’d let things go to hell.  He looked around now and saw tipped cups and empty soda cans and food containers.  He had eaten and drank, at least enough to make this mess.  The bottle of scotch she dumped out in his sink.  He said nothing to that, padding his way to the workbench and sitting down.  All his work was still there, even more disorganized and cluttered than he remembered.  Iron Man’s boot was completely disassembled.  Had he done that?  And some of the components were on the floor, like he’d swept everything off the table in rage.  _Fuck, what’s the matter with me?_

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.  He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, or, more importantly, to whom he was saying it.

Pepper took it as he was talking to her.  “It’s not a bother, Tony.  I – I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

He sniffled.  On one of the tablets on his workbench there were schematics for an upgrade to Steve’s gauntlets.  He’d planned an electromagnetic retrieval system for his shield a few weeks ago, but he hadn’t gotten around to actually starting the project.  Steve hadn’t been too interested in it, but Tony knew that was because he hadn’t seen just how cool it could be.  Imagine summoning his shield from dozens of yards away, slinging it around with his gloves like some cool telekinesis…  Steve was never too keen on fancy stuff like that, but Howard’s old design needed an upgrade, and Tony didn’t like the idea of him ever being without his shield in battle.

It was moot now.  He didn’t know where Steve’s shield was.  SHIELD had kept it, probably for their investigation.  And even if Tony had implemented the upgrade to his gloves, it wouldn’t have saved him.

“Tony, are you listening?”

Tony blinked and pushed the StarkPad away.  “What?”

Pepper was standing on the other side of the workbench.  She picked up the fallen tools and pieces of his boot and put them back on the table.  She wasn’t irritated at all, staring at him sadly.  “I asked you if…  If you’re willing to talk.”

He didn’t understand.  “Talk?”

“About Steve’s…  About his funeral.”  Tony jerked like he’d been hit.  Pepper noticed that right away, and she came close for support.  “Something has to be done about it.  It’s been almost a week since the attack, and…  The news is everywhere.  People are upset.”

He couldn’t help a bitter grunt.  “People, huh.”  He’d known (in sort of an indistinct way) that the US government and SHIELD had issued a release about the New Venture disaster.  The White House Press Secretary had held a press conference, and during that with appropriately forlorn eyes and a crestfallen voice, the woman had informed the nation and the world that Captain America had been killed during the Black Skulls’ assault.  Steve had died heroically, so she said, attempting to locate missing hostages.  He’d been caught in the explosion when the rig had been destroyed.  The woman had gone on and on about the grief of the nation, about the efforts SHIELD and the United States and her allies were putting into finding out more about this heinous and cowardly act.  The same political bullshit.  Already Steve’s death was turning into a talking point.

Pepper frowned.  Just like that, Tony’s mood shifted from feeling barely better to completely irked.  That was her frown that signaled he needed to do something, even if he didn’t want to do it.  “Steve’s…”  She sighed, her eyes squinting in an effort to hold back fresh tears.  “Steve was a hero, Tony.  He was a symbol to the country, to the world over.  People loved him.”

Tony couldn’t help his vitriol.  _“People, huh?”_   He spat it this time, and Pepper flinched.  He knew she didn’t deserve his wrath, but damn it was hard to hold it in.  Sharply he averted his gaze, trying desperately to hold onto that fleeting calm.  He breathed through the pain.  “I know what he was, Pep.”  _Fucking past tense already.  Jesus._  “I know what he means – meant.”

She nodded tentatively, like she was trying to decide if she should continue.  “President Ellis contacted the Tower yesterday.  He wanted to talk to you.”

“What did he want?” Tony said, not that he particularly cared.  And not that he couldn’t figure it out.

“He wants your permission to bury Steve at Arlington.”

A rough laugh punched its way through Tony’s lips.  “Bury him?  Bury what?  The few cells the forensics team managed to recover?”  That was another thing of which he’d been somewhat aware.  They’d located Steve’s “remains”, verified with a DNA match that Bruce himself had performed.  A few cells on his wedding ring.  That was it.  He wiped his eyes and muttered, “There’s nothing to bury.”

He could feel Pepper staring at him.  He knew she was trying to find a way to get him to agree to something he wasn’t going to like.  He’d worked with her enough, was so close to her, that he could tell.  “Steve wasn’t active military, but he died in the line of duty and the President assured me that he’d receive full military honors.  The highest that could be bestowed.  He asked me if you would consider a memorial service with a closed casket.  Right now details of what happened haven’t been made public, and he believes…  Well, a burial would provide some closure.”

“You mean a fucking dog and pony show,” Tony snapped.  “That’s what he wants me to agree to.”

“People are hurting, and they’re scared.”  Pepper touched his shoulder carefully, and when he didn’t pull away or cringe, she rubbed more firmly.  “I know you are, too.  Maybe…  Maybe it’d help to start letting him go.  Even the idea of him.”

 _I don’t want to let him go.  Don’t you get that?_   He didn’t say that, though.  He stared at his hands where they were limp in his lap.  His wedding ring was there, and he had Steve’s on right above it.  He hadn’t taken it off since putting it on that first night.  Matching.  _If only._

_You were never supposed to die before me._

Pepper grasped his other shoulder, gently comforting.  “You can’t stay in here, Tony.  You can’t hide like this.”

Even more upset, he turned blazing eyes on her.  “And why not, exactly?  Huh?”  His recognition of the fact that she didn’t deserve his condemnation faded.  Frankly, he wanted to scream at her to get out.  Who the hell was she to tell him anything?  She still had the person she loved.

He held back, though, at her watery blue eyes.  “Because Steve wouldn’t want you to.”

 _Honor Steve._   That was what a memorial service was all about, wasn’t it?  Honoring the person who was gone, who you loved, who’d sacrificed himself for the good of the people.  Steve deserved that.  He was a hero of the highest order, a wonderful person who’d loved more freely and purely than anyone Tony had ever known.  Steve deserved every bit of honor this world and Tony himself had to offer.  He couldn’t deny Steve that, no matter how much it hurt.

Pepper saw him coming apart again before he even felt it.  She drew him into another hug.  Somehow the tears kept coming; he couldn’t fathom how, but there they were, streaming from his raw, aching eyes and wetting her blouse.  “Oh, Tony.  Tony, I’m so sorry.  I know how much you loved him.  He was…”  _Amazing.  Beautiful.  Strong and courageous and noble and smart.  Perfect._   “He was yours.”

_Mine.  And I lost him._

“I loved him, too.  We all did.  But he was yours, and you were his.  I – I can barely stand that he’s gone.  God knows how much it hurts you.  I keep…  I keep hearing his voice and seeing his face and thinking about much he meant to us.”  Pepper’s voice broke.  “And that’s why I know he wouldn’t want you to be like this, Tony.  He’d want you to let us in.”

A long moment passed.  Tony was numb, not sobbing really, just tears lethargically coming and coming.  Pepper kissed his hair a few times, weeping a bit herself like she just couldn’t hold it in anymore.  “Say the word,” she murmured, pulling back and staring into his eyes.  Her own were glistening.  “Just say the word and I’ll tell them no.”

“No.”  He was speaking without thinking.  “No, it’s…  Whatever they want.  It’s alright.”

“Do you want me to take care of it?  Make all the arrangements?”  He nodded, unable to speak.  He didn’t want much to do with this.  It didn’t matter, whether or not they buried an empty casket in Arlington.  He wasn’t going to _let_ it matter, so they might as well.  Steve hated fanfare, but he always put up with it with a grin on his face if he thought it made someone else feel good or appreciated. 

“Alright,” Pepper said.  “Don’t worry about anything.”

He wanted to make some snarky comment – _what?  Me worry?_ – but he couldn’t manage it, so he nodded again.  She actually smiled.  It was the first smile he’d seen in what felt like forever.  “Natasha and Clint and Bruce and Thor…  They’re in the common room.  They ordered breakfast.  And Rhodey’s here, too.  And Happy.  We’re all here.”  Her smile faltered a little.  “Please come and eat with us?  Please, Tony.”

Again, he was speaking without thinking.  “Yeah, sure.”

She practically beamed with relief.  “Okay.  Okay, let’s go.”  She took a few steps toward the door, but then stopped and turned, clearly waiting for him.

“Just… uh.  I just want a minute, okay?  I feel like shit again.”  Concern crossed her face, like maybe this was a victory too easily won.  Tony struggled to get control of his voice, to get the damn waver out of it.  “I really am coming.  I just want a minute to get myself back together.”  He wiped at his wet cheeks and newly mussed hair.  Still she stared at him, doing nothing to hide her doubt and worry.  Irately, he sighed.  “I’m not gonna lock myself in here again.  JARVIS, under no circumstances are you to allow me to stay in here and miss breakfast.”

“I will ensure your prompt exit, sir,” the AI declared.

“Happy?” Tony asked, folding his arms across his chest.  “I’m… I’m okay now.  I just want a minute.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”  He actually managed a smile.  His face felt like it was rebelling against him, but he did it.  “Thanks, Pep.”  And he meant that.  Without her…  He didn’t think he could stand to imagine losing anyone else.

She smiled herself, nodded one last time (still hesitantly – it was pretty obvious she didn’t trust him), and walked out of the workshop.

Alone again, Tony leaned into his workbench.  He took a few cleansing breaths, tipping his head back.  This pit into which he’d fallen, the ocean in which he was drowning…  He knew he couldn’t stay there.  He wasn’t certain of anything anymore, not who he was or what he felt or what the world was without Steve in it, but he knew Pepper was right: Steve wouldn’t want this.  So he had to be better, stronger.  Braver.

Feeling more himself than he had in days, he fished through the mess on the workbench to find his phone.  What the hell…  Two hundred some odd missed calls forwarded to his private line by JARVIS.  For one totally crazy, irrational second, he hoped they were from Steve.  Steve who wasn’t dead, who’d made it off that rig when the bomb blew, who’d been calling him and calling him and _calling him._   But a swipe of his thumb over the screen showed the calls were from _everyone else_ : senators and other business owners and friends and well-wishers.  Acquaintances.  People who had no idea just what he’d lost calling to offer their trite condolences.  Sighing, he thumbed one voicemail.  “Mr. Stark,” came the message, “you probably don’t remember me.  We met at the MIT Robotics Expo last year and I just want so say–”

He shut that off.  Played the next one.  “Mr. Stark, the entirety of Global Tech wishes to extend our deepest sympathies–”

Nope.  Next.  “Hey, Tony.  I’m on my way there.  Just…  Please be okay.”  That was Rhodey from yesterday, and he’d see Rhodey in a second, so next.

“Hello, Mr. Stark.  We owe you a debt of gratitude that can’t be repaid.  Please accept our condolences–”

_No._

The next one gave him pause, though.  “Hey, Tones, it’s Ty.  I’ll be back in New York tomorrow so I was just calling you about our plans for lunch.  How does twelve thirty at the Gardens sound?  Call me back and let me know.”  _What?_   It took his battered brain a second to remember.  He and Steve were supposed to have lunch with Stone on Friday.  Tony winced.  Well, it was Monday morning, so so much for that.  Bitterly he remembered he’d been looking for a way out of it.  Seek and ye shall find.

The next voicemail came on.  “Tony, Ty again.  Your secretaries keep telling me they’re forwarding me to your private line, but you’re not answering so I’m starting to wonder.  Anyway, I’ll assume we’re on for lunch.  Looking forward to it, and I’ll see you then.”

And another voicemail.  “Tones, what the hell happened today?  Where were you?  This is low, even for you.  Twenty-five years is a really long time to carry a grudge.  Pretty pathetic, you son of a bitch.”

And _another_ voicemail, dated Friday night.  This time Ty’s voice was soft with horror and grief.  “Tony…  I just heard.  I, uh…  God, I don’t know what to say.  I’m so, so sorry.  I can’t imagine what you’re going through.  If there’s anything I can do, _please_ let me–”

Before Tony even knew what he was doing, he threw his phone clear across the room.  It smashed hard into one of the cabinets there and broke, its screen shattered.  It hit the floor in pieces.  “Fuck you,” he hissed, and he stormed out of the workshop.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later they were laying Steve to rest.  It was down in Virginia, and it was a clear, beautiful fall day.  The morning started with a memorial service in the beautiful National Cathedral, which was packed to the brim with people.  The crowd was so huge it spilled out onto the street where the police were keeping the mourning citizens organized onto the sidewalks so the funeral procession could have a clear path.  Security was strict, which only added to the tense, solemn silence in the air.  The service was absolutely stunning, quiet and solemn and so respectful of Steve.  Reverent, in a way.  So many important people were in attendance.  The President.  Members of his Cabinet.  Foreign leaders.  Army higher-ups and a handful of WW2 veterans.  Fury and quite a few individuals from SHIELD.  Other powerful and influential men and women.  And the Avengers, of course.  They sat in the front, quiet and defeated.

Stunning everyone, Natasha actually got up to speak in Steve’s honor.  She stood there a moment, lost and wavering, before she found her nerve.  “Steve Rogers was…  He was a hero.  A soldier.  A legend and an Avenger.  He was Captain America.  But more than this…”  Her voice broke, and she looked down at the church’s podium where her hands were clenched.  “He was my friend.  He taught me how to – how to be an Avenger.  How to let go of my past and fight to become something better.  So many of us struggle to do the right thing when it’s hard or painful, but he never did.  To him, protecting the innocent, the ideals of freedom and justice…  It wasn’t an obligation.  It wasn’t even a duty.  It was an honor.  Whenever we lost our way, he was there to lead us.  Whenever…  Whenever we were afraid, he was there to show us how to be brave.  When we wanted to give up, he stood tall and gave us hope.  When we were weak, he was strong.  And when we couldn’t find ourselves, he showed us how to be who we’re meant to be.  I…  I don’t know what we’ll do without that.  Not just me, but all of us.  He was – and always will be – the best of us.”

Tony closed his eyes and tried to focus on Pepper squeezing his hand.  It hurt.  It hurt so much.

After the church service, it was short ride in a limo to Arlington.  There even more people were congregated, but the air was silent, stiff with grief, as the Avengers – Steve’s family and next of kin – went into the cemetery like walking wounded.  With them, an elaborate honor guard fit for Captain America escorted and carried the empty casket, adorned in the American flag, to the burial site.  Other flags flapped in the gentle breeze, those of the United States and the army.  A riderless horse with the backwards boot in its stirrup followed to symbolize a fallen leader.  Tony and the rest of the team were of course afforded seats at the front of the gravesite.  Behind and all around them, the crowds were gathered.  The air was cool, the trees ablaze with autumn oranges, yellows, and reds.  It was peaceful and pretty as the Army chaplain conducted the ceremony, as the jets flew over in the missing man formation, as the rifle party performed the final salute.  Tony lurched with each resounding crack, Pepper’s hand still wrapped with his for comfort.  This was the end.  A lone bugler began to play _Taps,_ the mournful horn echoing across the cemetery, while the honor guard folded the American flag that had been draped over Steve’s casket.  One of the soldiers, a young guy about Steve’s age, came to Tony after that was done, bearing the folded flag.  “On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.”

Tony accepted it. 

And he hated it.  He hated the flag, the ceremony, the shallow condolences provided by this grateful nation.  He hated the whole damn thing.  It was torture to sit through it.  Pepper had been true to her word.  She’d set everything up.  She’d arranged with SHIELD, with the government, with the army.  She’d gotten everyone down to DC, handled all the transportation and accommodations.  She’d been at Tony’s side continually, guiding him through the process, even going so far as to pack for him and choose his meals and getting his suit ready and helping him get into it.  And Tony _knew_ Steve’s memorial was a beautiful service, a beautiful tribute.  A beautiful burial.  He knew he should be grateful.

But he thought the whole thing was so damn meaningless.  It was all a lie, and these people didn’t even know it.  Steve’s body wasn’t going into the ground.  He knew when other national heroes had died, like Presidents Kennedy and Lincoln, their loved ones had planned a very memorable, very public funeral.  Tony had seen a documentary on Jackie Kennedy once, about how she’d been so strong for the nation after having her husband basically blown apart in front of her.  He didn’t think he could manage that.  Furthermore, Pepper was absolutely wrong; there was no closure to be found in burying an empty casket.  Nor was there any in the pomp and circumstance of it all.  Steve had hated that sort of stuff, hated being the center of attention, hated people making a big deal about his heroics (because Natasha was absolutely right: to him there was nothing special about being a hero – it was what he did because fighting against injustice and evil was a responsibility and an honor, not a burden or a sacrifice).  So he wouldn’t have liked this, just as Tony had said before.  The memorial was exactly what Tony had thought it would be: a show for the public, for the world, a way for them to honor a man who’d died twice over to protect freedom and save innocents.  Tony tried to tell himself that he couldn’t begrudge people for wanting that, that he should be heartened by the number of different lives Steve had touched.  He shouldn’t be angry, even if he knew in his bones it was worthless.  It was hard, though.  So hard to sit there and listen to it and play the part of the grieving spouse when inside all he wanted to do was scream.

After the service, there was a luncheon held in Steve’s honor at the White House.  It was a solemn, elegant affair, attended by a great many diplomats and world leaders.  Tony could hardly stomach it.  To get through it, he really had to detach, to hide inside his head and let his body and mouth go on automatic pilot.  Steve would have been proud of just how well he’d pulled that off, even though it was harder than hell.  Tony stood there, listening to dozens and dozens of the people around the world, the Prime Ministers of Great Britain and India and Sweden and Thailand, the Presidents of Germany and Egypt and France, ambassadors and people from SHIELD and the UN and it went on and on.  President Ellis himself had stayed close to Tony’s side, at least guiding him through these moments, and he’d been deeply mournful of Steve’s death.  Ellis had always been a staunch supporter of the Avengers and Captain America, so it was nice to see his compassion now.  At any rate, this, too, had been torture, suffering through countless people speak of how deep their gratitude went, how wonderful and important a man Steve had been, how fortunate the world had been to have him back, even if it had only been for a few short years.  Tony said “thank you” and “he was special, wasn’t he?” and “I appreciate that” so many fucking times it was like he was a broken record, stuck on the same rehearsed, empty drivel.  By the time he finally escaped and went back to his hotel room, he collapsed from exhaustion.

The first days after the funeral were just surreal.  Tony managed to keep himself from falling back down into that hellish ocean of despair, but he constantly felt like he was walking a thin line between functioning and surrendering.  He worked a lot.  Work was good.  It kept him busy, kept him useful.  That was how he’d powered through his problems in the past, throwing himself into designing and inventing, losing himself in equations and schematics and algorithms.  He had a mountain of projects and tasks, things he’d been putting off for SI, for the team, for the Tower.  He dove into it all.  He wasn’t sleeping much, but he figured that was alright.  Part of the problem was he hadn’t really been back to the penthouse since that first night.  The thought of sleeping in their bed still terrified him.  He had the staff bring down more of his clothes and things, and he’d transformed a spare storage room in his workshop into a make-shift bedroom.  Right now it just had a cot, the same one he’d crashed on a couple times before, but he was thinking about buying an actual bed and knocking down one of the walls to put another bathroom in, a nice one, and an actual closet.  He kept telling himself that it was temporary; no one could expect him to want to sleep in the place he’d shared with Steve this soon after Steve’s death.  It had only been a couple weeks.  Eventually he’d get to the point where he’d do it, but not now.

So he slept in the storeroom that was slowly becoming a bedroom.  He had Steve’s wedding ring in there, right beside his bed on a little table, and the flag.  He still hated the flag, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.  Steve had loved his country, not in some nationalistic, patriotic way (not the way the people who used and abused his symbol thought he did), but he loved the ideals of it.  Still, it was the wedding ring Tony held at night, slipping it on his own fingers, staring at it, trying to remember how it looked on Steve’s hand.  How blue his eyes had been when they’d gotten married.  How Steve’s voice sounded.  How he clenched his jaw when he was worried or how he breathed when he was sleeping or how he smelled fresh from the shower.  How he kissed and how he melted under Tony’s touch or stood tall and proud against their enemies.  Christ, Steve had been gone for two weeks, and already Tony couldn’t remember things like that.  Realizing that always destroyed any chance of sleep, and back to work he went, ring back under his pillow and memories stuffed down deep again.

Still, he was surviving.  That was a good word for it.  Surviving.

“Sir,” JARVIS called late one afternoon.  “Ms. Romanoff would like to come in.”

Tony barely looked up from the circuit board he was soldering.  He’d hardly seen the other Avengers since the funeral.  They were around.  He knew that much.  They were all struggling with their grief, too.  None of them were particularly adept with dealing with trauma.  Bruce was holed up in his lab.  Tony’s nearly daily science debates with him had stopped completely.  He was also pretty sure Clint and Natasha had gone back to SHIELD, though they’d been in and out.  And Thor…  Tony had known Steve and Thor were close, but just how close he hadn’t realized.  Thor wandered the Tower aimlessly, like he couldn’t recognize where he was.  Once Tony happened to emerge from his workshop for food and caught him sitting alone in one of the common rooms, staring into the rain outside the windows.  It had been dark and quiet, and Thor’s eyes had been miles away.  _“I know mortals must die.  I know it is the way of things.  But it was easy to forget it.  Steven was… so young and strong.  He seemed invincible.  This is such…”_   Thor had closed his eyes.  _“A waste.  An injustice.”_

Tony sighed, soldering another place on the board.  “Yeah, send her in.”

A moment later Natasha was stepping inside his workshop.  Tony glanced up once, and he almost didn’t notice what she had.  The soldering iron nearly slipped from his fingers, and he fumbled to get it back into its cradle.  Natasha gave a weak smile, lifting Steve’s shield slightly.  It was newly repainted, sleek and shining with the workshop lights catching off the red circles and blue center and shining silver star.  It looked perfect, and the instant Tony saw it, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes were filling with tears before he even realized it.  He hadn’t cried since before the funeral.

Natasha’s weak smile faltered.  “I, um…  I just wanted to bring you this from SHIELD.  They’re finished with it.”  Apparently they’d also taken the time to restore it to the way it should be from how Tony had seen it last.  Or Natasha had insisted.  In either case, he was both incredibly grateful and bothered that all signs of Steve’s last moments had been wiped away.  He stood and stepped closer.  “You should have it.”  Natasha handed him Steve’s shield.  “I know he’d want you to keep it safe.”

It was hard to take it from her.  He did, though, and the feel of the smooth vibranium under his fingers was novel and familiar all at once.  He’d forgotten how it felt, how light it was, even though he’d held it countless times before.  He exhaled slowly as he pulled the shield closer to his chest.  Natasha ran her fingers across the front, her face blank and her eyes distant.  She dropped her hand suddenly like she realized what she was doing.  “I also wanted to tell you that SHIELD’s closing the case on the attack.  There aren’t any more leads to track down.  As far as we can tell, the Skulls acted on their own.  We’re still…  We’re not sure if the entire attack was a setup to kill Steve or not, but…”  She didn’t finish, but it was obvious.  _It doesn’t matter.  Steve’s dead either way._

Surprisingly, he couldn’t find it within himself to be angry.  “Okay.”

An uncomfortable silence came over them.  Natasha shifted her weight.  Tony stared at her, really looking – _really looking_ – at someone else for the first time since Steve died.  She was so pale, eyes ringed in darkness like she, too, hadn’t been sleeping.  Of course she wouldn’t be.  “You doing okay?”

Her question was loud in the silence, so loud he nearly jerked in surprise.  He nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m doing alright.  You?”

She nodded.  Her composure looked a second from shattering, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly, mouth twitching like she didn’t know if she should smile or frown.  She seemed even more brittle than she had at the funeral.  “All things considered.  You know.”

“Yeah.”  Slowly he ran his hand over the smooth edge of Steve’s shield.  Unchipped.  Not warped from the intense heat of the blast and the fire after.  Perfect and pure, just as it always had been.  “Yeah.”

Natasha watched him for a beat, and the breath she sucked in was loud.  “I miss him.  I miss him a lot.”

Again, Tony wanted to be mad that she was bringing that up when every single second of every day was a struggle between consuming grief and muddling through, but he wasn’t.  Sure, he’d been Steve’s husband, but Steve _had_ been loved by a lot more people than just him, Natasha definitely among them.  He’d been a brother to her.  She hadn’t said that at the funeral, but Tony knew it was true.  “Me, too.”

“I…  I didn’t get a chance to tell you.  I should have back at the funeral or before then, but…”  She shook her head, shifting her weight again.  “I’m sorry, Tony.  I’m so sorry.”

Maybe she wasn’t remembering right, but she had told him that right after he’d found Steve’s ring.  In fact, she’d been the first of so many.  He’d been told that _so many times_ over the last couple weeks.  It was the default statement people made.  _Sorry this happened.  Sorry for your loss.  Sorry you’re suffering through this._   Shallow, empty things meant to make the giver feel better about an uncomfortable situation, because sorry didn’t really mean anything.  Sorry didn’t ease his sleepless nights.  Sorry didn’t make him brave enough to carry on.  Sorry didn’t fucking fix anything.  But he always took it, like he took the memories and the tears and the fact that his heart was still slowly bleeding like half of it had been ripped away, because there was no choice.

This wasn’t another useless apology, though.  This was deeper, more meaningful.  “I knew something wasn’t right,” Natasha said once she gathered herself more.  “I could feel it.  You heard me say it.  And…  And I didn’t stop him from going down there alone.  I should have.”  Natasha rolled her eyes to the ceiling, bravely trying to hold back fresh tears.  “You were right.  I should have insisted on going with him.”

“No.”  He set Steve’s shield to his workbench gently, letting his hand ghost over the star as well.  “No, Tash.  There was no way you could have known.  And there was nothing you could have done.  If you’d gone down there, you would have been killed, too.  All those people would have died.”  His voice was so calm, so reasonable.  So level.  “So it’s not your fault.  It’s not anyone’s fault.  And the people who killed Steve…  They’re already dead.”  It hurt to say that, even though he knew it was true.  “Case closed.”

Natasha stared at him, her surprise unmasked.  Truth be told, he was pretty shocked himself.  That sounded like something similar to acceptance, and that wasn’t him.  Not at all.  He wasn’t ready for that.  Still, she looked better for his words, and he meant them, meant the comfort at least.  It wasn’t Natasha’s fault.  Wasn’t Clint’s fault or SHIELD’s fault or _his_ fault for not being there.  Steve had been murdered.  Lured into a trap and slaughtered.  The only people to blame for his death were the bastards who’d rigged the bomb and set it off.

And no matter what Natasha thought, she _was_ a good person.  Her own guilt would stay with her.  Tony knew that, and he didn’t want it.  He didn’t want her to hurt.  She didn’t deserve to destroy herself over this.  So if he could make that better…  That was what Steve would have wanted.

“I keep…”  While he’d drifted in his thoughts, she’d slipped down into her guilt again.  She grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut and grasped the edge of his workbench.  “I keep seeing it.  That moment where it went off.  That…”  A grimace twisted her face.  “That split second where he knew.  He knew he was going to die.”  _Jesus._   Tony looked away, but the image came unbidden.  Steve hiding behind his shield.  As he thought about it, though, he couldn’t remember the look on Steve’s face.  Terror?  Regret?  Anger?  Panic?  For all the fear he’d felt at the time about never being able to forget that image, _he couldn’t remember._   “Not sure I’ll ever be able to let that go.”

He felt sick again.  _Let him go._ He didn’t feel capable of saying anything comforting then, lost in that ocean inside anew.  The silence went on, second by second, but eventually Natasha broke it.  She was trying to smile.  “Have to try though, right?  I know Steve would want me to.”

“Yeah,” he heard himself say.

“Anyway,” she went on, sniffling and smiling more genuinely, “everyone’s out in the common room.  We ordered pizza.  Thought we’d watch a movie.  Haven’t done that in a while.  You want to join us?”

The thought of sitting in front of the huge screen on the couch and _not_ having Steve right there beside him where he’d always been during movie nights, leaning into his side or laying with his head in Tony’s lap or throwing himself back to laugh or watching with that intense look he always had when he was really amazed by something…  The absence would be unbearable.  “No, that’s okay.  I, um…”  He gestured to his bench.  “Lots of work.”

She probably saw through his excuse, but unlike Pepper would have, she didn’t press.  She appreciated defenses more than anyone else.  “Okay, Tony.  If you change your mind…”

“I’ll come right out,” Tony promised with half a smile.  “Thanks for bringing the shield.”

Natasha nodded.  She looked worried for a moment, but she smiled, too.  “Sure.  See you later?”

He managed a nod.  “Sure.”  He waited until she was out of the workshop and the doors were sealed again before sitting back on his stool.  He rested both his hands on Steve’s shield, curling his fingers over the smooth, flawless surface.  And he wavered there a moment, feeling unsettled and teetering all over again.  “JARVIS…  I want to see Steve.”

JARVIS didn’t respond immediately.  “Sir?”

“Pictures.  Videos.  Anything we have.”  All the sudden that thought of this becoming a real thing, the not being able to remember, was terrifying.  “And…  And I want the video from the New Venture.  The video where Steve – where the bomb went off.  SHIELD has it.  I want it.”

For a moment, it was quiet, and Tony wondered if JARVIS would argue.  After all, him wanting to see the video of the moments before Steve’s death again…  It probably wouldn’t mean anything good.  But JARVIS didn’t.  “I will see if I can request a copy of it from SHIELD.  If not…  I’ll use more direct methods.”  In other words, JARVIS would hack SHIELD.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

Tony smiled.  “Sounds good.  Just put it all here?”

“Of course, sir.”

A moment later, the monitor on his workbench winked to life.  Tony leaned over Steve’s shield, smiling when he recognized what it was on.  _“Am I doing it right?”_

_“Go ’way, Rogers.”_

_“You got me this thing.  You need to show me how to use it.”_   The video wavered and blurred when Steve turned his StarkPhone to film his face instead.  At the sight of his devious smile, Tony’s heart throbbed with pain and joy at once.  _“I really do know how to do it,”_ Steve confessed to the camera in a conspiratorial whisper.  _“But pestering is fun.”_

 _“I can hear you, you know.”_   The camera swung again as Steve had turned the phone anew and focused on Tony where he’d been trying to nap on the couch.  Tony grinned.  This was… last year?  Before the latest StarkPhone model had launched at least.  Tony had given Steve a new prototype.  _“I can hear you and you’re not nice to bother a sleeping man.”_

 _“I need help,”_ Steve whined, and the video jerked its way across the carpet in the living room of their penthouse as Steve crept over.  He wasn’t too graceful about it, probably scooting on his knees.  _“C’mon, love.  Help me.”_

_“Go.  Away.”_

_“Don’t make me beg.”_

_“That’s not as much of a turn-on as you think it is.”_   On screen, Tony had rolled over, giving up the pretense of trying to nap.  Steve had loomed over him, shoving the phone in his face.  The resolution on that camera was so good that Tony could see the hairs of his goatee as he’d smirked.  _“Alright, maybe it is.”_

_“This is… whaddya call it?  Zoom.”_

Tony had rolled his eyes.  _“You know what zoom is.  Ignorance is not convincing on you.”_

The camera zoomed in on Tony’s face.  _“In…  And out.  In and out.”_ Steve had fiddled with it, and it kept zooming, and it was kind of dizzying looking at it now.

In the video, Tony reached up and snatched the thing away. _“You’re a pain.”_   In the workshop in the here and now, Tony smiled and turned his cheek to lay it on Steve’s shield.  He remembered how this went.  He could picture it as the dialogue went on, some stupid sexual innuendos about the in and out, about Tony needing to be ready for a close-up, how maybe Steve should get on with it since he was being such a damn pest, how that led to tickling and wrestling before making out on the damn couch like a couple of horny teenagers, and that led to other things.  The video cut off somewhere in the laughter and banter and well before those other things, but Tony closed his eyes and remembered it all unwittingly, Steve’s weight pinning him into the couch cushions, Steve’s kiss, deep and possessive, Steve’s hand snatching both his and holding his squirming, whimpering, laughing body at his mercy.

 _“Nick, with all due respect, that’s a load of crap, and you know it.”_   Tony opened his eyes and saw it was a different video clip.  JARVIS monitored the Tower continually for security purposes, and all of that footage was routinely deleted unless otherwise specified by the people in the clips.  However, everything that went on in the Avengers’ command center was preserved.  Right now it was a video of the team, banged up and battered after a fight gone wrong, and Fury was there, positively irate over how things had gone.  Steve was standing toe to toe with him, still in his filthy uniform with his grime-covered shield on his back, going to bat for Tony.  _“Stark did what he did because there wasn’t any other choice.  It was either take down the computer core for the drone army or have the entire city be threatened.”_

 _“He left the payload undefended,”_ Fury had argued, glaring at Steve.  _“The mission was to ensure its safe delivery, and now it’s gone!”_

 _“The mission is always to protect people,”_ Steve argued. _“We can recover the payload.  We could never undo the damage those drones would have done.”_

_“He made a bad call.”_

_“I made the call,”_ Steve corrected.  _“He saw the situation, told me what he thought, and I agreed.  It was my decision.  I gave him an order.  If you have a problem with what went down, blame me,_ not _him.”_

Tony could remember just how that felt, to have Steve protect him like that.  To have Steve stand up for him and say he made the right decision.  Pride and a sense of security hadn’t quite covered it.  That was maybe the first time he could remember someone really sticking up for something he’d done.  And Fury had glared and come after Steve with the logical rejoinder.  Tony could hear it now.  _“I trust you’re saying this because you believe it, not because you two are sleeping together.”_

 _“I’m saying it because he was right,”_ Steve had returned, absolutely livid, _“and you have_ no _reason to put him down for saving lives.”_

Tony gave a shivering sigh now.  _God, baby…_   JARVIS brought up more.  Footage of Steve on the couch in the workshop, sketchbook on his thighs, pencil scratching over paper, brows knit as he concentrated on his drawing.  Sunlight from the windows behind him washed over him, and he looked beautiful.  It could have been one of so many days.  Tony couldn’t remember if he’d taken the video himself or had JARVIS record it or what, but Steve was completely oblivious to it, a candid moment that was picturesque and perfect.  Tony felt his eyes well just staring at it.

He must have been recording it.  Steve looked up when he realized he was being watched.  _“Tony, quit it.  I can’t focus when you’re starin’ at me!”_   He could have been talking to Tony for real.  His eyes were brilliantly blue, hair gold spun in the sun, his face a little flushed with embarrassment, and he was staring right at him.

Tony’s voice came over the footage.  _“I’m watching you create art.”_   He remembered this now.  He hadn’t meant the drawing.

Steve smiled, shook his head, and went back to sketching.

More videos came on.  Christmas last year, the team gathered around a massive tree in the common room.  Their wedding reception, right in the Tower.  An Avengers press conference after a battle in Sydney that had ended in an awesome victory.  Dozens of moments, some special and some mundane but all the more wonderful for how normal they were.  He’d taken them all for granted.  He watched, curled over Steve’s shield, and let himself sink into it all.

“I have the footage from SHIELD.”

At JARVIS’ announcement, Tony opened his eyes.  He’d dozed apparently.  On the screen, Steve was trying to coerce Bruce into sparring with him, trying to convince Bruce that he wouldn’t lose control and go green, that it was important for him, too, to be able to defend himself.  Natasha was there, dressed for a workout and trying to gently prod the scientist.  Tony blinked blearily, watching Steve bounce in the ring a little as he and Natasha demonstrated basic holds and counters.  “What?”

“The footage.”  JARVIS was solemn.  “Deputy Director Hill was reticent to honor your request, but she agreed to send us a copy of everything from the investigation.”

Tony sat up.  His back ached, and he winced.  “Bring the video up.”

JARVIS didn’t.  He was hesitating.  “Sir…  Are you certain you wish to view this?  I do not mean to upset you, but you have made some progress in processing Captain Rogers’ death in the last few days.  This could disrupt that.”

It was strange, being proud of that progress and resentful of it at the same time.  Not much of anything made sense anymore.  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

For a second, it seemed like JARVIS wasn’t going to do it.  Then the incredible pictures and videos of their life together disappeared and instead came the last horrific minutes where it all ended.  Tony sat up straighter, shivering with surprise even though he’d expected just how awful it was.  The pirates were preparing their bomb.  Shooting the hostages.  Steve, Natasha, and Clint were quickly talking, trying to get control of the situation.  The same choices were made, the same priorities decided.  He didn’t know why he even entertained the thought it would be different.  It couldn’t be.

And Steve ran off on his own to find the missing hostages.  Steve burst into the generator room, fighting, unaware of what lay in wait.  Steve was charging to his death.  Tony leaned forward, watched with his heart pounding and his eyes wide, with a cold sweat covering him.  The battle chatter fell away.  So did the workshop.  All he could do was stare at Steve, at his husband as he dropped the remaining pirates and found the dead hostages and ran toward the sound of the gunshot.  The damn conversation came, inevitable and unstoppable.

_“Get everyone off the platform! They’ve rigged the room to blow!  Get everyone off right now!  Get out!”_

_“What?”_

_“Fucking hell…  Move, move, move!”_

_“Cap, what’s happening?  What’s–”_

_“You don’t want to do this.  A lot of innocent people are going to die if you do.”_

_“Only one that we care about.  I’m going to hell, Captain America, and I’m taking you with me.”_

The bomb went off.  Steve stopped and dropped and hid behind his shield, turning his face so that it was visible to the camera.  Eyes squeezed shut.  Teeth gritted.  Fear and pain.  Tony realized he hadn’t forgotten it at all.  The moment where Steve knew he was going to die.  The fire was coming, bright and torturous and _everywhere_.  It was just about to wash over him, and there was no stopping it.

“Jesus,” Tony whispered, staring at the final frame of the video which held its place on the screen.  It blurred as tears burned his eyes all over again.  The anger came.  And the grief.  The hatred for everyone else and fate and the whole fucking world.  It was worse than before, and whatever _progress_ he’d made up and vanished like it had never been there at all.  “Why didn’t you run?  Why didn’t you _do_ something?  Why did you go down there at all?  Why, Steve?  _Why?_ ”  Of course Steve couldn’t answer him, and he knew the answer anyway.  Innocent lives had been at stake.  There was no other option.

But that bullshit logic did _nothing_ to make him feel better.  He’d blinded himself to it, made himself look away from just how inadequate it was.  And he wanted to go back, to fall into that ocean inside again and drown.  Scream.  Break everything.  Blame everyone.  Blame Steve for leaving him.  That was who was most at fault.  Captain America, who’d had to save everyone.  His shield was such a symbol of strength and bravery, of protection.  His shield, right under Tony’s hands.  It hadn’t protected the only person who’d mattered.

Steve was gone.

 _“Why did you leave me?”_   The cry was deep, desperate, plaintive, and Tony stood, pulling the shield from his workbench.  He was tempted to throw it, get rid of it, too sick to even look at it.  The thought of treating something Steve treasured like that, though, was even more disgusting than his anger.  Instead he drew breath after breath until he was calm again, until his eyes stopped streaming, until he could think beyond his rage.  _Don’t dishonor him.  He’d want you to keep it safe._  Captain America’s shield.  His memory.  Tony swallowed down the bile in his throat and waited for the misery to let him go.

It did.  Inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly a few more times left him empty and pliant.  He looked down at the shield.  He’d marveled at the perfection of its design a few times in the past, though he’d never admit it because his father had been a class A jerk to him.  It was pretty magnificent.  Without thinking, he slid his arm into the shield’s leather straps.  These were new ones; the others had been burned away by the fire, and the replacements were stiff and unused.  They felt different from the last time Tony held the shield like this.  He raised his left arm with it.  Again it struck him how light it was.  Light and seemingly impotent.  Mere metal against fire and force.  There was no way it could have saved Steve.

Sighing, he looked up from it and back to the video, where Steve was still ducking with the shield in front of him, his left arm in the straps and his right hand close to it and his whole body curled behind it.  Now that Tony looked closer, he could see Steve was a little twisted, and his right thigh, shoulder, and foot weren’t quite protected.

But that wasn’t what drew his attention.  The explosion was right before him, spewing fire and most of all light.  The angle on the camera wasn’t the greatest, but the blast front…  It wasn’t right.  There was some sort of weird interference that was right in front of Steve’s exposed side.  Even with the shield out of the way, it was barely visible.  Still, the light looked wavy, twisted, not what it should be.  “JARVIS…”  Tony’s voice was hardly anything more than an awestruck murmur as he leaned closer to the screen.  Steve’s shield clunked against the workbench as he set it down and peered at the image.  “Is there anything more to the video?”

“A frame or two, but they are extremely distorted.  This is the last clean image.”

“Play them anyway.”  The next couple frames came on, and JARVIS was right; they were hardly perceptible.  That weird, wavy, swirly effect had grown, amplified, filling a great deal of the space in front of Steve’s body.  Tony shook his head, shocked.  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?

“Sir?”

“There’s…  There’s something there.”

* * *

“Tony?”  Tony didn’t look up from the tablet in his hands as the doors to the workshop slid closed and footsteps came closer.  It was Rhodey.  If the voice wasn’t enough to give it away, the particular way he walked always did.  Plus, JARVIS had warned him Rhodey was on his way up, but it was too damn late to hide what he was up to, so why bother?  “Tony?  Pepper was trying to get a hold of you.  She’s worried – holy shit.  What the hell are you doing?”

Now Tony did look up.  Rhodey stood there, arms falling from his chest and eyes widening as he looked around.  It was pretty striking, Tony had to admit.  He’d spent the whole night clearing out and reconfiguring his workshop.  With the help of DUM-E and U, he’d moved all the equipment from the center to create a large, empty area.  That had been the first step.  Installing the holographic emitters and wiring up room to produce the large-scale three-dimensional image currently residing in its center had been more difficult.  He’d had a setup to do this sort of work out in Malibu, though he hadn’t used it much since solving his problem with his arc reactor before the team had formed.  Honestly, he and Steve hadn’t gone to Malibu much in the last few years, and Tony had been slowly but surely moving most of his equipment to New York, the holopad and the computer systems included.  Needless to say he hadn’t made it a priority to get it installed with everything else that constantly required his attention with the team.

He’d made it one last night, though.  He’d labored all through it, barely even noticing when the sun came up this morning.  When he’d finally finished setting up what essentially amounted to a massive, holographic playground, he hadn’t paused for a second.  While he’d installed the floor pad emitters and the other mounted units around the room, he’d had JARVIS start to analyze the video feed, calculate how to convert a fairly low resolution, two-dimensional image into a three-dimensional, interactive map of the generator room on the rig.  JARVIS had worked tirelessly on that, coming up with angles and sizes and positions.  There were also the forensic reports, which detailed the assumed location of the equipment, and the rig schematics.  Still, the AI had warned Tony the second Tony had mentioned this plan of his that there would be a margin of error involved.  Tony found he couldn’t care, and only minutes after he’d finished constructing the holographic interface, he was standing in the very corner where Steve had died.

Well, not quite.  Everything was pale, lightly colored shading and lines that made up crates and pipes and the generators themselves.  These things were transparent, of course, because they were nothing more than light.  JARVIS had extrapolated, embellished, and provided details that made sense, since some of the room had not been visible on the camera.  But it was remarkable what the AI had been able to recreate and render.

Like the ghost of Steve himself – a life-size _phantom_ – crouched in the center of the room and hiding behind his shield with the blast right before him, frozen in time.

So there was no hiding anything.  Also there was no reason to lie, considering Tony was standing right beside his husband’s holograhic image and analyzing it like it was a problem to be fixed.  Thus he simply went for it.  “Steve’s not dead.”

Rhodey stared at him, equal parts shocked and horrified.  His brown eyes darted between Tony and Steve’s image.  Even though he was deep into this, Tony had to admit it was eerie and disturbing to really see Steve as he was.  What JARVIS had been able to do was so life-like, down to the way Steve had his jaw clenched in pain, to the distressed wrinkles about his eyes as he closed them tight, to the glitter of tears at the corner of them (Tony was right that he’d seen them there).  This was the very second before the fiery wave of the bomb had struck him, so watching him kneel there, _knowing_ what was coming…

But that wasn’t the only thing upsetting Rhodey.  Tony could hear it before it was said.  The doubt.  The worry.  “What are you talking about?”

“What do you see here?”

Rhodey shook his head.  “You.  Losing it completely.”

Tony gritted his teeth.  He’d anticipated this, but that didn’t make it easier.  “ _No_ , look at him.”

Rhodey clearly didn’t want to do that, biting his lower lip and putting his hands on his hips and turning away with a shake of his head.  It made sense.  This was awful on a whole new level.  As difficult and heart-rending as watching the video had been to begin with, this was… _living_ it in a way.  Tony had to admit the first time JARVIS had used the holo emitters to create Steve’s image, with the audio from the SHIELD comm link actually coming from Steve’s mouth like he was _really there_ and _really speaking…_   Tony had gone down hard onto his knees, bent and sick with grief.  But he hadn’t stayed there, because as the scene had played out and the bomb had gone off and Steve had dropped behind his shield just as he was doing now…  It was undeniable.  He’d seen exactly what he’d thought.  _Something there._

“Look,” Tony implored again, trying and failing to keep the excitement and frustration from his tone.  “You see right here?  This isn’t right.  Right here by Steve’s leg.”  He pointed excitedly at Steve’s thigh.  “And his boot and his arm.  The light should be coming straight on from the explosion, but it’s distorted.  There’s interference.”

It seemed like Rhodey wanted to object immediately, his mouth open and his eyes squinted in a grimace.  But he didn’t.  He took a step closer, getting over his initial revulsion and looking down where Steve was crouching between them.  His brow furrowed as he studied it.  “Tony…”

“And,” Tony started, touching a few places on his StarkPad.  “And look at this.”  He played the last couple of frames.  Behind them the explosion burst outward.  It stopped just as it consumed Steve, washing over both Tony and Rhodey, and Tony paused the massive animation at the last frame.  “You see it?”

Rhodey shook his head, caught between reticence and worry.  “What am I supposed to see?”

Tony struggled for patience.  He stepped to the awful blob of light where Steve was being enveloped by the fire.  “Right here.”

Rhodey stared and then came closer.  He folded his arms across his chest.  “What?  You mean…”  He pointed to the thin waves and swirls in the fire just in front of Steve.  “That?”

“Yeah, that!” Tony said.  Exhilaration thrummed in his veins at the validation, even though it was hardly validation.  Still he clung to it like he’d been clinging to hope for the past twelve hours.  “Look at the distortion.  That’s not natural.”  He tapped at the pad again.  Rhodey backed away as the contrast of the colors shifted to make the lights lighter and darks darker.  “Don’t tell me that doesn’t look like something.”

Obviously Rhodey wanted to.  He had an incredibly dubious look on his face as he stared at where Tony was gesturing.  “It looks like a bunch of little darker swirls inside a huge lighter swirl.”

“ _No._   They’re waves.  Look at it.  _Look._ ”  Another tap had the video advancing a frame.  It was a little jumpy, and the distortion got worse as the cameras began to fail, but the swirls radiated out randomly, expanding away from right in front of Steve.  It was almost like the light had hit his shield and refracted, which didn’t seem possible.  “That’s an energy wave.  You can’t tell me otherwise.  Something is _definitely_ there, and it’s causing the distortion.”

Rhodey shook his head.  He glanced around the room again, at the whole animation.  “You got all this information from where exactly?”

“The footage the cameras were transmitting to the black boxes on the New Venture,” Tony said.  “I had JARVIS reconstruct the explosion using that and the forensic reports from SHIELD.”

Now his friend was even more mortified.  He was flustered and bothered as he gestured to the fake room Tony had created and the animation he’d made, to Steve and the slight hints of something _off_.  “It’s a trick of the light or something.”

“It’s not a trick.  Light doesn’t just _bend_ this way, Rhodey!  Something caused it.”

Rhodey looked nothing but doubtful.  “Okay, maybe something did.  Steve’s shield?”

“No.”  Internally he had to concede that it wasn’t entirely impossible.  With all the energy and heat and light in the room, it could be impossible to rule anything out.

Rhodey shook his head.  “Some debris somehow?  Everything was exploding.”

“Even if you buy that maybe some _could_ be there, what are the odds, with all the heat and the force from a hundred pounds of C-4 going off, that wreckage would come at Steve like this?   Would cause waves like this?”

“Like what?  Like half a hint of something being there?  _If_ you stretch your imagination.”  That felt really harsh, and Tony’s eyes filled against his will.  Seeing that, Rhodey sighed and humored him.  “Maybe it’s got something to do with the pirate who blew the bomb?”

“Uh-uh.”  It was jarring, almost nauseating, but Tony rewound the footage.  Before them, Steve stood back up and took a few steps back.  The explosion condensed, sucked back into the bomb.  There was the pirate and the crate covered in C-4 _beside him_.  “He’s nowhere near Steve.  This explodes, and he’d go to the side, not forward.  Though he was probably vaporized instantly.”

“So was Steve.”  Rhodey sighed, realizing again that came out meaner than he intended.  He wasn’t about to back away from the cold, hard truth of it, though.  His eyes were teeming with compassion as he tried to reach for his friend to comfort him.  “Tony, this is insane.”

Tony wasn’t going to be put off by that, so he emphatically shook his head.  “No.”

“You’re saying it’s some weird energy disturbance.  Well, electrical equipment and power generators were _exploding._   I’m not an engineer, but couldn’t that spew electromagnetic waves left and right?”  Tony _was_ an engineer, so he had to concede that, too.  With the bomb detonating and the rig’s power system being destroyed at that particular point, there was no telling what sort of EM radiation could be filling the room.  Any or all of it might have affected the refractive index of the air, leading to the waves.  Rhodey threw up his hands helplessly when Tony didn’t respond.  “Or maybe the camera was failing?  Or couldn’t it be some sort of effect of having JARVIS do this?”

JARVIS chimed it, of course.  Always the fucking pessimistic voice of reason.  “I have mentioned numerous times that any distortion present could be amplified by my attempts to render a three-dimensional animation from a two-dimensional image.”

“That doesn’t mean the original distortion isn’t real,” Tony argued.

“No, it does not.  However, Colonel Rhodes is right; perhaps the distortion occurred during the data transmission rather than the explosion itself.  As I said before, sir, there is a large margin of error.”

Tony wasn’t about to be appeased like he was out of his mind with grief or some bullshit.  “No.  No, it’s not.  I’m not crazy, Rhodey.  Watch.”  With a couple taps to his StarkPad, the last couple seconds of the video played all around him.  It was horrifying.  The fact that everything was translucent and ethereal made it even more unsettling, truly like ghosts reliving a final horror.  The pirate pressed the bottom on the detonator.  Steve stopped advancing on him.  The C-4 exploded.  Steve dropped to the crouch behind his shield.

And there it was again.  The wall of fire coming closer in slow motion.  The weird, darker swirls starting on Steve’s exposed side and becoming more and more noticeable.  Multiplying.  Expanding.  Twisting like little, random eddies in a violent current.  Tony stopped the scene again and pointed angrily.  “Those waves there are not natural.  It’s not just heat bending the light.  It’s not just simple refraction.  It’s not Steve’s shield.  It’s not just a figment of my imagination.  _Something_ in this room caused this!”

“Again, so what if it did?  It doesn’t matter,” Rhodey said.  “Jesus, Tony, I know this is hard.  And I know you.  I know how your brain deals with pain.  I know you cope by over-analyzing and over-thinking and trying to understand _everything._   But this doesn’t mean _anything._ ”

Furious, Tony jogged over to the workbench on the side of the room and grabbed another series of pads from them.  Picking one, he flung the data into the holographic work area.  “You want to talk about something else then?  Huh?  How about the fact that Steve supposedly burned to death in this fire but there’s hardly any sign of his remains?”

Rhodey shook his head again, this time in sadness.  “He burned.  Or the explosion might have…”  He couldn’t make himself finish, but it was like he’d said before.  Steve could have essentially been vaporized given enough heat and force.

“Maybe.  The fire burned at about two thousand degrees.  But that’s not enough to _erase_ him from existence.  There should be at least hints of bone, and the forensics team found nothing.”  Tony brought the data up, and Rhodey came to stand beside him and look over it.  “Nothing but a few traces of DNA on his wedding ring.”

“The report says recovering remains at that level of biological destruction can be impossible.  And you know that.  You were here on 9/11.”

“Can be.  Not is.  But even if you accept that–”  Tony grabbed another pad and flung its data onto the holographic area.  The floor of the generator room turned into a grid, the criss-crossing lines demarcating squares a foot in area.  “Explain to me how they found Steve’s shield here.”  One of the squares by where Steve was crouched lit up.  “And I found his wedding ring over there.” 

This was finally giving Rhodey pause.  The other blinking spot was not quite on the other side of the room, but it was far away.  A dozen feet.  13.4 feet to be exact about it.  Rhodey walked over to it, staring at the location and its holographic label of what evidence had been recovered there.  What was even worse was there had been a bank of pipes and machinery between here and there.  With the video paused as it was, that was pretty damn obvious.  “He could have been…”  Rhodey looked sick.  Once again, what he couldn’t say was clear.

Tony was beyond the horror of it, and he came charging across the room, bright and frantic despite having not slept in more than twenty-four hours.  “Even if the explosion _blew him_ apart, his left arm is in his shield.  His left _hand_ is holding the strap.  _Look._ ”  Rhodey did.  He looked right at Steve where he was crouching, where his left hand was clenched around the strap of his shield.  His left hand was the most protected part of him in fact.  “How the hell did his wedding ring get here?”

There was no getting past that.  The more Tony had twisted and turned this situation around during the night as he’d worked, the less he could deny it.  Frowning, Rhodey seemed incredulous and pained.  “So what are you saying?  Steve got out?  Someone saved him?  Someone using something that made funky swirls in the fire?”  Tony flinched.  Truth be told, he didn’t know what exactly he was saying.  Rhodey sighed softly.  “If, _if_ that were the case, then where is he?”

“Maybe they didn’t save him.  Maybe they kidnapped him.”  Disbelief didn’t begin to describe Rhodey’s expression.  Tony felt sick just thinking about it, but truth be told, as these little clues had fallen into place over the last twelve hours, that was the only thing really sticking in his head.  He stared at the waves, waves that were barely there at all if he could be honest with himself, and he felt not a single bit of relief or gratitude.  The whole thing just looked dark, twisted, foreboding to him.  Threatening and malignant.

_Someone took Steve._

“Tony,” Rhodey said softly.  “That’s…  Christ, it’s not possible.  How could someone abduct Captain America from the middle of a SHIELD assault op with no one noticing?”

Tony shook his head, frustrated and shaken to his core.  “I don’t know!  I just…  I know he’s alive.  I know it.  Something’s wrong about this whole thing.  Something’s off.  Romanoff felt it when the mission was going down, and I feel it now.  These pirates…  What if it wasn’t about killing Steve?  What if it was about kidnapping him from the start?”

“I know you want to cling to hope, but–”

“I get it.  That sounds far-fetched.  _I get it._   But tell me it’s not possible that maybe someone took him or he escaped somehow, that SHIELD couldn’t find any sign of his body because _he didn’t die in there._ ”  Tony gestured wildly at the scene spread all around him.  “Tell me this doesn’t look weird and that it’s not strange that his ring was nowhere near his shield.  Tell me it’s not bothering you.  Tell me I’m crazy.”  That came out more desperate than he wanted, but he couldn’t help it.  Hope was beating through him, hot and almost harsh, and he was lost in it.  Helplessly he stared at Rhodey, fighting for his composure.  “Tell me.”

Rhodey didn’t tell him.  He simply stared, his eyes sad and his lips tight in a sympathetic frown.  It was obvious he didn’t know what to say.  He had known Tony long enough to see what Tony was currently denying in his head.  _Obsession._   “Don’t,” was what finally came from Rhodey’s mouth.  It was a soft plea.  And that one word was all it was, but fucking yet _again_ Tony could read the subtext.  _Don’t do this.  Don’t lose yourself up in this.  Don’t tear yourself apart over it.  You’re chasing nothing, and it’ll hurt you.  Don’t, don’t, don’t._

Tony sighed.  He tapped one of the StarkPads again, and the whole system he’d just built went dark.  The workshop was so empty now, even though it had been no fuller of substance before.  That huge spot in the middle was like a gaping hole.  “Alright.  I know.  You’re right.  I’m…  I’m grasping at straws.  Steve’s dead.”  Saying that hurt more now than ever because he knew _it wasn’t true_.

“You’re not crazy,” Rhodey finally said, and it felt just a little like a consolation prize.  “I can’t pretend to know how hurt you are, Tony.  I don’t know how it feels.  But, like I said, _I know you_.  I know how you deal with pain.  I gotta be honest with you because you’re my friend and you deserve it: you don’t always handle it well.”  _Fuck you,_ Tony thought, but he couldn’t manage it.  He was too hurt.  Rhodey came over and took Tony’s shoulders, nothing but sincere worry and care in his eyes.  “And I don’t want to see you run yourself down over this.  I don’t want to see you…”  He didn’t finish.  Instead he pulled Tony into a hug.  They’d rarely been openly affectionate in their relationship like this.  Tony stiffened.  This was how it was with everyone.  A hug.  A whisper of solace.  An attempt to be strong.

He didn’t want to be strong.  He wanted his husband back.

Rhodey let him go.  He smiled and patted Tony’s arm.  “Let it go.  And call Pepper, huh?  She’s really worried about you.”

Tony nodded.  “Sure.  I’m, um, gonna get some shut-eye.  Was up all night with this.”

Rhodey seemed convinced that was the end of it.  “Alright.  You want me to stay with you?”

“No, no,” Tony immediately replied.  “No, it’s okay.  Go do whatever you need to.  See you.”  It was probably pretty rude, but he just ended it like that.  He walked out of his workshop and left Rhodey behind.  He had to.  He wasn’t convinced.  He wasn’t letting this go.

So Rhodey was definitely not going to approve of him calling Nick Fury and demanding SHIELD reopen the investigation.

* * *

Fury wasn’t too inclined to do that, as it turned out.  “Stark, there’s no concrete evidence in anything you’ve shown me.”

Tony was furious and flustered enough to be pacing the Director’s office.  The fact that he was exhausted wasn’t helping matters.  He’d flown down to DC that afternoon, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance at winning his argument over the phone.  Catching a nap on the flight had helped but not enough to make him feel like he was on solid emotional footing here.  Normally he could fake competence when he was punch-drunk exhausted, but this was after days upon days of fatigue and emotional upheaval.  So it was damn hard to stay calm at Fury’s cool dismissal of his case.  “If there’d been concrete evidence, you would never have written Steve off as dead to begin with.”

“He is dead,” Fury said.  His voice was even, level, but not cruel.  It was simply a statement of fact, and it gave Tony such pause that he actually stopped trying to wear a hole in the tiled floor with how hard he was pivoting and pacing.  He stared at Fury where he sat behind his desk.  The Director had been busy with something when Tony had barged in, but he’d turned his computer monitors off and set his files and tablets aside.  That was what one did for the widower of a dead national icon.  Steve was the leader of Fury’s superhero team and one of Fury’s best agents, so Fury was paying attention but only out of decorum.  Tony thought that, and he was nothing but bitter.

Bitter and argumentative.  “We don’t know that for sure.”

Fury sighed.  “We’re as sure as we can be with what we have.  I read the same forensics reports you did, Stark.  I read them before the funeral, and I read them very carefully.  I didn’t see any reason to change Cap’s status.”

“There _are_ reasons!  They’re right there!”

“As you said.  But there’s nothing _concrete_ in any of it.”  Fury leaned forward with a creak of his leather jacket, folding his hands together on his desk.  His one eye was filled with compassion.  “Why don’t you sit?”

Tony didn’t want to sit.  He wanted _someone_ to believe him.  Rhodey hadn’t.  JARVIS had been reluctant every step of the way.  And now Fury was dismissing him as well.  Nonetheless, he found himself heading to the chair on the other side of Fury’s desk and settling into it.  His head was pounding, and he was so tired.  He shuddered with the simple relief of not having to stand, and his head hit his hands before he could stop himself.  Scrubbing his eyes first, his fingers then raked through his hair.  He sighed, shivering a little.  “I know there’s something wrong here, Nick.  I know it.  I can feel it.  Something’s wrong.”

Fury looked away, like the sight of him distressed was upsetting.  Throughout all of this, Fury had been nothing but stoic.  Even at Steve’s funeral, he’d been calm, unmoved, not apathetic but still betraying nothing of what he felt or thought.  “The world lost a great man,” he finally commented, “and you lost someone you love.  There’s nothing that could be more wrong than that.”

“I don’t need more bullshit condolences,” Tony groaned.  He blinked his vision to clear it.  “I need someone to listen to me.”

“I can’t reopen the investigation based on a hunch, no matter how much I want to.  Cap’s been laid to rest in front of the whole world, Stark.”

“That wasn’t my choice,” Tony hissed angrily.  “Ellis and the politicians wanted to make the big deal out of it.  And, what, we have to pretend there’s nothing more going on here so the US government and SHIELD can save face?  What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

“I’m just saying it’s not that simple,” Fury replied.  “The President wanted the country to have a sense of closure over this tragedy.  You know that.  _That_ was the reason for the funeral in the first place.  Reopening the investigation seriously undermines that, so I need to be damn sure it’s for something more than you thinking that there’s distortion on the video feed.”

Anger jolted over Tony.  “So you don’t believe it’s anything?”

“I don’t know _what_ it is, Stark.  Is there something there?  It’s not likely, but I can concede that a hell of a lot of unlikely things happen in this line of work.  But even if there was, does it change Cap’s status?”  Fury shook his head.  “The forensics people said that the fire burned hot enough to kill someone even in a fire entry suit, and that’s not counting the force of the explosion itself.  How does distortion make it possible he survived?”

He had absolutely no explanation for that.  “I don’t know.”

“And _if_ Rogers survived, where is he?”

“Nick, I’ll say it again: if I _knew_ that, we wouldn’t need to investigate!”  Tony’s patience was absolutely spent.  The same damn questions over and over again.  Rhodey had asked them.  JARVIS had, too.  Hell, he’d been asking himself.  He drew a deep breath and leaned forward.  “This is SHIELD.  You’re super spies.  I know you can poke around without causing a stir.”

“We investigated.  Without more to go on, any further action attract attention, especially with Roxxon and the Coast Guard so intimately involved with this.”

“Then minimize the information spread!  I know you can do that!”

“We ran down the leads we had on the Skulls.  Believe me, we ran them into the ground.  I had everyone working on this after the attack.  _Everyone._   Everything they found is in those reports.  We looked into every attack the Skulls have made, every link they had to terrorist groups and unfriendly governments worldwide, and there was no connection between any of them and the attack on the New Venture.  We looked into every member of the crew.  There was nothing that suggested a bigger plot.  The pirates wanted to ransom the rig, just like we originally thought.  They were going to destroy it unless the US government ponied up the money.  That’s _why_ we went in.”

“And they just did it anyway for kicks?”

“Or they realized the situation had gone to hell and wanted to avoid arrest.  Or they were vindictive bastards and they _did_ lure Cap down there to kill him.  We’ll never know what went through those pirates’ minds.”

Tony sighed.  “And there’s no money trail?”

“I just said that,” Fury declared, but he wasn’t curt about it.  “The Skulls acted independently.  And as far as we know, they’re all dead.  There’s nothing more to investigate.  As powerful as SHIELD is, I can’t hunt down a hint of noise on a couple frames of a video.”  Hotly Tony averted his eyes.  That hurt, even though he knew Fury didn’t mean anything cruel by it.  The silence that came over the office was deep and devastating.  Tony hadn’t known what he’d expected, but it had definitely been more than this.  More than trying to cover up a potential public relations nightmare by ignoring what, to him, seemed like irrefutable facts that something else had happened in that generator room.

But that was the thing.  They weren’t irrefutable.  They weren’t even facts.  What did he really have?  Distortion that somewhat looked like waves in the light that could have, as JARVIS rightly said, been caused by any number of things.  The _lack_ of remains, which God knew was no proof of anything.  No sign of any of the bodies had been found, not Steve’s nor the pirates’ or dead hostages’.  If the explosion and fire had been powerful enough to vaporize the others, it would have done the same to Steve.  And Steve’s ring being on the other side of the room from his shield.  JARVIS had told him that that wasn’t conclusive.  Not really.  The explosion had been wild, chaotic, reducing the room to charred rubble.  After the initial blast, other things had detonated and the rig had shifted and parts had collapsed.  It wasn’t entirely inconceivable that Steve could have…  That his ring could have ended up far from his shield.  Maybe it didn’t seem likely, but Tony had to admit it was possible.  That was what the reports had said.  _Possible._   More possible than some mystery distortion somehow saving Steve from the blast and him getting out of there, off the rig, and away from everyone.  Because if all that had happened, if all of that was even possible, _why_ wouldn’t Steve contact him?  Why wouldn’t Steve _be_ here?

_Where is he?_

“Tony.”  Tony pulled himself from the same torturous circle that had been plaguing him since last night and looked at Fury.  Fury was frowning but gently so.  “I’m… not usually the best with this sort of thing.  I’m the first to admit it.  But you deserve to know that what you had with Rogers…  I could tell it was what you both needed.  The bond between the two of you held the team together, and without that, I don’t know where we’d be.”  Tony closed his eyes.  He was so fucking _tired._   He didn’t want to hear this again.  One more _I’m sorry for your loss._   He couldn’t even bring himself to argue.  “I can’t officially reopen the investigation, not without something more substantial.  Bring me something more substantial.”

Tony sighed, shaking his head.  “I have JARVIS trying to determine the source of the distortion.  He’s doing a bunch of different analyses, eliminating any emissions from the electrical equipment in the room and on the rig, trying to calculate the wavelength so we can hook back to whatever caused it, but it’s going to take time.  And more computer power than I have.  And more data.  And–”

“Obviously Hill sent you what the forensics teams have, even though you’re not a SHIELD agent and not authorized to act on SHIELD’s behalf.”

“No shit,” Tony grumbled tiredly.

“You don’t answer to me.  And we aren’t involved with you.”

“Doubly no shit.”

Fury cocked an eyebrow.  Tony realized what he was doing.  _Distancing._ “So whatever information’s been released, it’s yours.  My only request is you be discreet, but other than that…  Go ahead and do what you want with it.”

Tony was so surprised at that he didn’t even think to be insulted that Fury was asking _him_ to be discreet about investigating _his_ husband’s death.  That Fury was giving him permission.  No, he just nodded and stood and started out of the office.

“Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reason.”

Tony stopped and looked over his shoulder.  Fury was watching him sadly, but there was a warning in his eyes.  That made Tony’s heart shudder in his chest – _don’t do this out of denial_ – but he turned around and kept going.

Out in the hallway he stopped walking and slumped into the wall.  All the sudden he was battling tears again.  The only thing he could manage for a bit was leaning there and breathing.

“Tony.”

He jerked when a hand fell to his shoulder, nearly falling as he scrambled away.  Opening eyes he’d squeezed shut, he saw Natasha standing there.  “What are you…  You followed me down?”

She nodded.  She was dressed in black jeans and a blue shirt under a black leather jacket, and she seemed much calmer and more put together than she had yesterday.  “Rhodes told us what you did last night.”

 _Fucking fantastic._   Tony grunted and shoved himself into walking away.  “Let me guess.  You’re all worried, right?  Poor Tony.  Falling off his fucking rocker.  Can’t handle his grief.  Well, save it.  I don’t need another person to tell me I’m crazy.”

Natasha smoothly caught up with him.  “No.  I want to help you.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks.  “Huh?”

She took his arm and stepped close to him.  Pain flashed through her eyes.  “If…  If there’s even the slightest chance that something else happened in that room, I’d never be able to live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to find out what.”

The aching misery inside him abated ever so slightly.  She held his gaze firmly, and there was no hint of doubt in her eyes.  In fact, there was hope.  His heart swelled with relief for the first time in what felt like forever.  He wasn’t alone in this.  He wasn’t.  “Thank you.”

She nodded again.  “Where do we start?”


	5. Chapter 5

For the next week, Tony did nothing but focus on his investigation.  He didn’t really know what to do at first, but thankfully Natasha had ideas.  She got a hold of the actual black boxes from the rig and delivered them to the Tower, so now Tony had a wealth of data to work with.  Then she went to interview who she could from the Coast Guard.  Tony didn’t understand that at first, but it made good sense once she explained it.  If someone had abducted Steve (or if he’d survived the blast some other way), getting off the rig without SHIELD knowing would be a hell of a problem.  The Coast Guard ships and helicopters were the only escape methods on the scene; SHIELD had kept track of every boat and air craft in the vicinity, so Steve would have had to have left (or been taken) via one of them somehow.

So she went to work those angles.  Tony had offered to come with her, but she’d immediately turned him down.  He was too high profile, and this needed to be done with a subtle hand otherwise people would start wondering why they were asking.  Instead Tony worked with the wellspring of data from the black boxes.  They were huge, numerous hard drives all configured to work together and create a massive log of the New Venture’s activity.  He now knew everything: how much they’d drilled and when and how deep, pressure and temperature readings, electrical output, call and email logs (although he couldn’t see the contents), shift schedules and where people had worked and when.  He had surveillance video from all over the rig, the platform and the interior rooms and corridors.  Shipments arriving and leaving.  Visitor manifests.  _Everything_ that had happened on that rig over the last six months.  Terabytes upon terabytes of data.

He realized quickly on in organizing all that information that the Tower’s computing core wasn’t going to be sufficient to run the analyses he wanted to do.  It was a mountain of data, and it all had to be logged, cross-referenced, and examined.  Plus, JARVIS was churning through the video feed like mad, picking it apart, doing every analysis they could come up with to try and locate what the distortion on the video feed was and what could have caused it.  Considering the inventory of the electrical equipment in the room, it was a slow and laborious process, one filled with much conjecture and extrapolation.  The AI was running simulation after simulation, eliminating different sources while simultaneously attempting to calculate the frequency of Tony’s mystery waves.  Given they only had the video feed to work with (which wasn’t all that clear to begin with), it was not a precise process at all.

On top that, not long after realizing that Steve wasn’t dead, Tony also started JARVIS on running a world-wide tracing program.  He wrote the algorithms himself, modeling it after the one SHIELD had used to locate Loki during the Tesseract incident.  What he was doing wasn’t strictly legal.  He’d hacked into the CIA and Interpol, into every satellite system he could, into Verizon and AT&T to get into their mobile networks (as well as Stark Industries’ own).  He needed eyes and ears across the globe.  At first, he’d restricted himself to just the Gulf, Mexico, and the lower portions of the United States.  Texas and Louisiana.  Florida.  The islands in the Gulf.  He’d expanded it after a few days, though, figuring a month after Steve’s death, he could be anywhere.  That had only aggravated his issues with the computing core, so he’d pulled in the cluster from Malibu.

Of course that was noticed.  “Miss Potts is calling, sir,” JARVIS announced.

Tony was running about seven different algorithms at once, searching through the logs for signs of unusual activity or contact from the Roxxon workers to anyone suspicious (again, not quite legal).  The progress of each was on the glass screens around the workbench he’d put in the corner of the room.  The holopad was alive with a picture of the earth because he was also working his way through every one of the Skulls’ illegal exploits over the last year.  Robberies and arsons and bombings all along the coast of Africa and further north toward Portugal.  Fury had said SHIELD had covered it, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance.  He closed the files on one dead lead with a swipe of his hand.  “Put her through.”

Pepper’s face appeared on one of the monitors.  “Tony, are you okay?”  She started every conversation with that nowadays.

“Peachy keen,” he said, draining another Red Bull and tossing the empty can across the room.  It might have made it in, but the bin was too full so it bounced off the pile and clattered to the floor.  “Damn it.”

“What’s the matter?” Pepper asked worriedly.

God, she was all over him.  In her defense, he’d hardly left the Tower.  He was still sleeping in the storeroom, which was looking more and more like a permanent bedroom and less like a temporary escape.  He was showering and eating and sleeping down here, but only when he had to.  And he wasn’t answering calls, not really.  Weeks after the fact there were numerous news magazines and shows that wanted to interview him about Steve’s death, and while Pepper wasn’t pressuring him to do that at all, she did need a response of some sort from him.  He hadn’t even said no, just ignored the bullshit.  He couldn’t be bothered with wasting a second on that.  “Nothing.  Just working.”

“On what?”  She sounded nothing but suspicious.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her what he’d been up to.  “Work.”

But this was Pepper.  And JARVIS had always had some measure of allegiance to her, just like he’d always had to Steve.  “You’re still pulling apart the data from the oil rig, aren’t you.”

He tried to play it cool as he angled around the screen so she could only see him.  “No.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes, analyzing him carefully.  She was like a hawk.  “What’s that?  Around your neck.”

He clutched at his shirt, right over the arc reactor.  _Damn it._   Honestly, he didn’t know why he was ashamed.  He had no reason to be, not about investigating Steve’s death and not about this.  Reaching under his t-shirt, he pulled out the chain.  “Steve’s,” he explained, lifting up the dog tags.  Steve had given them to him a while ago, not long after they’d gotten married.  The tags and his shield were basically all he’d had from his life before he’d been lost in 1945, and he’d wanted Tony to have the former as a symbol of him committing everything he had and everything he was to their love.  As of now, Steve’s shield was in Tony’s makeshift bedroom, right next to his bed, and the dog tags…  Tony had braved going upstairs to the penthouse to get them days ago.  He’d never worn them before for much the same reason Steve was reluctant to wear some of Tony’s nicer gifts, the jacket and the ridiculously expensive Rolex and so on.  He’d wear them now as long as he had to.

The tags weren’t the only thing on the chain.  Tony lifted it so she could see it better, deciding there was absolutely no reason to hide it or feel bad about it.  “I don’t think it’s too ‘one ring to rule them all’.  Do you?”  Steve’s wedding ring dangled in front of the screen.

Pepper frowned, this one deeply worried.  He could write a fucking book on the intricacies of her many frowns.  Her eyes seemed a tad wet.  “Tony–”

“Don’t, Pep.”  He stuffed the chain back under his shirt, squeezing the ring once for comfort before it settled back against the arc reactor.  “I can’t let it go.  I won’t.  Not until I either find him or find answers.”

Pepper sighed.  She probably wanted to go over the usual ( _Steve’s dead_ and _you should move on_ and _he wouldn’t want you to do this_ ) but that wasn’t what she said.  “I know there’s nothing I can say to stop you.”

“Nope.”

“But R&D is complaining about you hogging the cluster out here.  They need it to run simulations for Green Light.  Plus, I’m fairly certain that you’re not bothering with things like obeying the law–”

“You wound me,” Tony said, picking up a tablet that was flashing a notification about search results. 

“–so I’d rather not have the company servers involved in whatever you’re doing.”

“Well, you’re in luck.  I’m just about finished setting up a new cluster here in the Tower, so I should be out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair,” Pepper said.  She shook her head helplessly.  “I wish you’d talk to me, Tony.  I don’t like the idea of you holed up out there by yourself.”

Tony scanned through the results.  Nothing.  “I’m not by myself,” he argued.  “Natasha’s helping me.  And the rest of the team is around.  I think.”  Maybe.  Clint was in and out, mostly out.  Tony thought Bruce was in his lab, obsessing over his latest experiments.  And Thor was moping like a huge, listless, grief-stricken sloth, still trying and failing to process their captain’s death.  Yeah, they were a regular happy, supportive family.  “And JARVIS and DUM-E and U.  They’re always here.”  DUM-E chirped in the background appreciatively, waving even though Pepper couldn’t see him.  “So I’m fine.”

“That’s not – come on, Tony.  Your bots don’t count.”  She leaned closer to the camera.  “Come out to Malibu.  Spend some time out here.  Get away from… from everything that’s hurting you.”  Tony glared.  “I’m not saying quit.  I’m just saying take a break.  You need to be out here Friday for the engagement party, anyway.”

 _Shit._   The engagement party.  He’d completely forgotten about it.  Happy and Pepper had planned it before the attack, before Pepper had even told Tony about their engagement.  Pepper had asked him earlier that week if he wanted her to cancel it, but he hadn’t been paying attention much.  He’d just said it was fine.  Now…  “Pep, I just…  I don’t know if I can–”

“You can,” Pepper assured him.  “And you should.  It’s not – it’s not healthy for you to be doing this.”  Now she did go into it.  “Steve’s dead.  He’s gone.  You’re torturing yourself.”

Tony sighed, setting the pad down.  “I’m not doing anything.  I’m fine.  I’ll get my stuff out of R&D’s way.  And I’ll be there Friday, okay?”  Pepper’s mouth fell open at being so summarily dismissed, but Tony couldn’t manage much regret or sympathy.  “It’s fine.  I’ll see you then.”  And he hung up on her.

Christ, he was an asshole.  He set the pad down and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.  “Fucking hell,” he whispered.  He felt the crushing weight of depression on his shoulders, driving him down all over again.  Doing all this…  He had to admit it was helping to keep his grief at bay.  He was focused, determined, and it prevented him from noticing that Steve wasn’t there.  That he hadn’t seen Steve’s face or heard Steve’s voice or felt Steve beside him or tasted Steve’s lips in _weeks…_   Every time he slowed down for even a second, it started to catch up to him.  It was like he was trying to outrun an avalanche, and the investigation was keeping him from stopping even to catch his breath.  _“Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reason.”_

“He’s not dead,” Tony hissed, getting back to work.  “I know he’s not dead.”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“I have concluded my search for an EM signature linked to the distortion.  I have also discovered a rather interesting anomaly in the rig’s surveillance system.”

Tony perked up instantly.  “What?”

“Which shall I discuss first?”

His brain had been going a million different directions over the last few weeks, but the distortion had been a particular sticking point.  Maybe someone had staged the explosion, fooled with the video footage to make it _look_ like Steve had died.  They’d taken him and blown the room up after.  Of course, that only made sense to a point.  How had the perpetrator doctored up the SHIELD comm signal?  The video synced perfectly with the audio.  Aside from those few frames of distortion, the feed showed no signs of malfeasance or tampering that Tony could detect.  Of course, SHIELD techs had overlaid the audio on the video feed.  _Conspiracy._  

Maybe he really was going crazy.  At any rate, there _was_ something off about it all, and that distortion was key.  “The EM signature.”

His computer screen was suddenly filled with new data.  Formulas and graphs showing various waveforms.  “I wish I had something, sir.”  Tony gritted his teeth.  “If you believe the distortion was caused by something in the room, I cannot precisely calculate its source.  By removing the effects of heat and other confounding variables, I believe I have localized it within a two-meter diameter margin of error.”  A 3D representation of the room appeared, and the animation zoomed in on the section in question.  “It appears to be, as you suspected, right in front of Captain Rogers.  As the blast wave from the detonation reaches this position, it seems that the waves increase in number and amplitude.  Their oscillations are very difficult to measure with any accuracy, but they range from short wavelength to longer.”  Hundreds of graphs appeared, all depicting different wavelengths in the visible infrared range.  “Using time and frequency, I was able to produce this array of possibilities.  There may also be infrared, ultraviolet, or other EM waves that the camera could not detect and would not be visible.  Would you like to begin analysis of each one individually?”

 _Fuck that._   All this work for nothing.  “No,” Tony growled, swiping it all away in hot frustration.

“I am sorry, sir.  It is impossible to measure a particular wavelength from a few distorted frames.”

“Well, something had to cause this,” Tony firmly commented.  “Heat in the air can make light bend but not like this.”

“Perhaps.  Some sort of equipment in the room could have altered the properties of the air or vaporized other materials, thus producing the light refraction.  I cannot say what, though.  I have eliminated every piece of machinery that the schematics and reports list as present in the room, particularly around Captain Rogers.  Nothing there could produce an EM signature capable of this effect under normal conditions.  With the force from the blast, it becomes difficult to speculate.  And, as you know, EM signatures themselves cannot alter light waves.”

“That we know of.”

JARVIS was fairly aghast with the notion.  “You cannot be suggesting that these pirates would have in their arsenal some sort of technology capable of altering one of the fundamental physical constants of the universe.”

It did sound far-fetched.  Of course, he fought on the regular alongside an alien demigod who traveled thousands of light years over a rainbow bridge and a man who transformed into a giant green rage monster when he got angry.  He was married to a man whose body was infused with a serum capable of taking him from a sick, thin kid to nearly superhuman levels of strength, endurance, and vitality.  He could admit to himself that science wasn’t always the answer anymore.

Still, a bunch of lowly pirates getting their hands on technology like that was pretty inconceivable.

JARVIS went on.  “Given the implausibility of determining if the distortion originated from the explosion, I turned to other sources.  This brings me to my second finding: there is something else that is odd about the footage of Captain Rogers’ death.”

Tony perked up again.  “What?”

“Approximately seven minutes earlier, this camera–”  JARVIS brought up another image, this one of a corridor.  “–experienced similar interference on its video feed.”

Tony blinked himself more aware and stared at the video.  Excitement suddenly thrummed through his veins, and his heart was pounding.  It was just a dark, empty hallway.  A few seconds into it, though, that same wavy, swirly distortion flashed across the screen.  Again, it was like waves refracting on a pool.  It was barely perceptible, lasting only a fraction of a second, once more only a couple of frames.  JARVIS had to slow it down so Tony could even see it.  “That’s weird,” Tony commented.  “There’s nothing there.  Where is this corridor?”  A schematic of the New Venture appeared on the holopad, replacing the globe from before.  Tony stood and headed over to it.  “This is right outside the generator room.”

“Indeed.  I’ve also discovered three more cameras that have the same sort of distortion.”  Three more locations flashed on the schematic.  Again, there were hallways, one a little further from the room and the other two on levels above.  “These incidents were hours before the explosion.  None of the cameras show any activity minutes before or after the distortion.”

“They’re doing something, though,” he whispered.  He didn’t specify who _they_ were.  “They got into the video system to hide it.”  He reached back to the image with the distortion and brought it to the holopad with a sweep of his hand.  The frame with the swirls in the corridor was enlarged, and he peered at it.  Here it was a tad clearer without the light from the fire confounding the situation.  “It’s almost like…”  He rolled his eyes at the stupid analogy.  “Like someone blurred the image in Photoshop.”

“The distortion here is much smaller than the one that occurred in the generator room,” JARVIS declared.  “It is hardly noticeable.”

Tony had to agree with that.  No one would have detected this unless he or she was looking for it.  “So you’re thinking it’s a digital artifact?  Like someone interfering with the data transfer to the black boxes?”

“Or altering the image somehow.  I cannot say for certain,” JARVIS replied.

“You wouldn’t have brought this up if you didn’t think it was possible,” Tony said a bit harshly.  “Someone tampered with the cameras.”

“Considering the cameras in the vicinity of the explosion are all destroyed, it is, again, impossible to tell.  I am detecting slight signs of the same distortion on other cameras throughout the New Venture weeks before the attack.”  A dozen more blips appeared on the schematic.  They seemed fairly random, though Tony could see a pattern leading down toward the interior of the rig.  “It could potentially be a fault in the security system.  When the cameras transmitted the digital data to the server and thus to the black boxes, the stream could have suffered from intermittent packet loss.”

Tony shook his head.  “That wouldn’t look like this.”

“I admit it seems odd, but I have no other explanation.  I find this more likely than the pirates possessing something capable of altering the fundamental nature of quantum physics.”  There was no arguing with that, even if JARVIS was being something of a smart ass.  Tony had to agree that that did make more sense.  “Still, the fact that it occurred in other places and at other times suggests it may not be related to Captain Rogers’ death.”

“Disappearance,” Tony corrected harshly.  This was JARVIS’ subtle way of trying to control him, to push him toward letting this go.  Not even JARVIS really believed him.  Hence trying to reduce this to happenstance or a pile of fundamental impossibilities.  Tony grabbed the original image from the explosion, enlarging it and bringing it to the forefront.  Steve appeared on the holopad again, forever locked in that crouch behind his shield, the wall of heat and force barreling toward him.  Those weird swirls were still there, seemingly bending around him.  “So maybe these waves aren’t being made by something in the room after all.”

“Calling this noise a wave at all is purely conjecture, sir.  Considering how hard and inconclusive it was to analyze them with that model, I would suggest keeping with a label of distortion.  Anything else is a subjective, visual inspection and nothing more.”

“Don’t be so fucking argumentative.”

“I am simply trying to reign in your wilder theories.  I will continue my analysis further if you like, but I feel it will not be fruitful.”

Tony sighed shortly in frustration.  “Focus on this if you think it’s more likely.  Maybe someone doctored the image and created a digital artifact.  It’s some sort of left-over mess from whatever they did to make this _look_ like Steve died.”

“Though more plausible, that is not very likely.  The data feed was secure and encrypted.”

“If it’s a fault in their system, don’t you find it odd that it happened to show up on this particular camera at this exact moment?”

“Rarity is not the same as implausibility.”

“Goddamn it, J, you can’t tell me that _all_ of this is one long crazy string of coincidence!  Steve’s ring ending up on the other side of the room from his shield and there not being any remains and this distortion, whatever the fuck it is!  _All_ of that just happened?”

JARVIS’ tone was soft but firm.  “That is more likely than Captain Rogers somehow surviving an explosion that was powerful enough to vaporize him.”  Tony jerked in fury, eyes stinging.  “Particularly when we have direct evidence he was overtaken by the blast in the video.”

“A video that could have been doctored in any number of ways!  You just told me that was more plausible than any other explanation we’ve come up with.  This came from a live data feed.  It’s not that hard to get your hands on it and fuck around with it!  Replace the image with something else!”

“Aside from the distortion, which, as I mentioned, could be a flaw in their system, there is no evidence of any foul play.”

“There’s no evidence because we haven’t found any yet,” Tony snapped.  Angrily he swiped all the images on the holopad away save for Steve and those odd wavy swirls looming over him.  “Keep looking.  Someone somewhere did this.  Intercepted the feed.  Screwed around with it.  Sent some fake images to the black boxes instead.  Caused the distortion.  I don’t know!  I don’t know what and I don’t know how.  But whatever they did, they left a fingerprint.”  Darkly he stared at Steve’s face, perpetually frozen in fear, and he let the anger wash over him.  “And I’m going to use it to find them.”

* * *

When she first mentioned the engagement party, Pepper promised Tony it would be a small, casual affair.  This, however, was neither.  The venue was spectacular, one of Malibu’s many swanky locations fit for a wedding or a celebration such as this.  There were nearly a hundred people in attendance.  It wasn’t black tie, which was damn fortunate for Tony, because he didn’t think he could stomach being in a tux all night.  As it was, his suit was too hot and uncomfortable.  And every second he spent here, hobnobbing with the elite of corporate America and the upper echelons of Stark Industries, felt like one fewer second he could spend trying to find Steve.

There was no escape, though.  Realizing that, he was trying to play the part.  Thankfully, everyone assumed he was grieving, in attendance only to support his dear friend, so that made keeping away from people and generally being totally anti-social easy enough.  He’d made the rounds, accepted another litany of useless condolences over his loss, put forth a token effort to seem happy for Happy and Pepper.  It was hard to fake it when his brain was firmly back in Manhattan, running over the latest search results.  So far there was nothing.  Nothing from the face trace, which Tony kept expanding more and more both by location and by accessing more networks of information.  Nothing from investigating the Skulls and their many ties to terrorism and crimes.  Nothing from combing through the black boxes.  Nothing from cross-referencing and analyzing and examining _everything_ for signs of anyone else other than the pirates, the Roxxon employees, and the SHIELD STRIKE Team aboard the rig.  Nothing from combing through every aspect of the video feed he could for signs of interference.  There was _nothing_.  A mountain of data that was slowly but surely being whittled down to a few video frames of distortion and whole lot of what-ifs and coincidences.

Still, he wasn’t about to give up.  He’d gotten the new computing cluster up and running at the Tower, and JARVIS was powering through search after search.  It was consuming, tedious, laborious, but Tony wasn’t letting anything go to chance.  No stone was going to be left unturned.  During the party it was a constant struggle to keep from checking his phone.  Hope was like an itch in his brain he couldn’t scratch, and it seemed like every other second he found himself reaching into his pocket to see if JARVIS had sent him anything.  So far, nothing.  He knew he was being a shitty friend and a shitty party-goer, but being away from his search was making him miserable and antsy.  It felt like leaving Steve, like letting him go.  Betraying him.  That was bullshit from a stupid, guilty conscience, but he couldn’t shake it. 

He wasn’t the only one sticking to the back of the magnificent room and watching the party go on all around.  The rest of the Avengers had been invited, and they were all loitering with him.  Clint sat with Thor, and both of them looked to be a million miles away.  They were dressed nicely in suits, and each had a glass of champagne and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, but they weren’t eating or drinking (which in and of itself was a sign of severe depression for them both).  Clint was leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and rubbing his hands rhythmically together.  His sharp eyes were uncharacteristically blank.  Thor was slumped in a chair beside him, his huge frame crumpled with defeat.  The two of them weren’t talking.  Bruce was silent, too, standing next to Tony and watching the guests enjoy themselves.  People were laughing and drinking and having a wonderful time.  The air in the room felt warm with good cheer and happiness, and earth’s mightiest heroes were simply barred from it.

Tony knew why.  Steve’s absence was so damn sharp.  It was all too easy to picture him with them, even if Steve hated these kinds of events as much as any of them did.  He did a better job of hiding it though, all gentlemanly and chivalrous as people fawned over him.  And they used to.  The Avengers turned heads wherever they went, but there was something about Captain America, not just the symbol but the wholesome, valorous, humble man beneath the mantle, that drew attention like a moth to a flame.  He was apple pie, fireworks, a sweet summer day, the pledge of allegiance before a baseball game and the flag flying high…  People loved that stuff.  Tony had always found it so endlessly entertaining because he had firsthand experience with just how _not_ wholesome Steve could be.  But despite all the teasing he’d done about his old Captain America films, Steve really was a decent actor, at least for people looking to him for something, whether it be strength or determination or the comfort found in the affirmation of an image.

At any rate, not having him there was making everything that much more painful.  Beyond perfunctory pleasantries, the team hadn’t moved the whole evening.  Pepper noticed, of course.  An hour or so into the evening, she came over bearing a sad smile and regretful eyes.  The group of them immediately shared ashamed glances.  “You guys okay?” she asked.  She looked beautiful in a black cocktail dress with her hair done up.  And she deserved better than this.

Tony couldn’t make himself say that, though, and Thor was already on it.  The demigod stood to his impressive full height, smoothing his suit jacket.  “We are doing you a disservice with our melancholy,” he rumbled unhappily.  “I apologize profusely.”  This was the first time Tony had seen Thor in quite a while.  He still looked… stricken.  Like the weeks since Steve’s death had done nothing to assuage his pain.  Idly Tony wondered if he was still listlessly roaming the Tower.  It wasn’t like the team had been summoned to fight in the last few weeks.  At least he didn’t think it had.  He didn’t even know.  He’d been ignoring so much, the whole world, their friends falling apart around him.  God, he was a mess.

“Sorry, Pepper,” Bruce said with a weak smile.  “You didn’t invite us here to mope.”

Pepper pressed her red lips together in a thin line.  “No, no.  I shouldn’t have – it was too soon to have a party like this.”

Clint looked up, offering half a smile.  “Life doesn’t stop.  And you’re entitled to celebrate the good things.”

 _The good things._   Tony moved away, driving his teeth into his tongue until the bitter tang of blood filled his mouth.  It hurt, but that was preferable to the pain in his chest.

“Tony?”  Pepper grasped his shoulder and turned him around like she was forbidding him from hiding from her.  She could practically read his mind.  Honestly, it wasn’t all that hard.  He was shit for acting when he was this broken and tired.  _And obsessed._   “Tony, what’s the matter?”

Like she needed to ask.  Christ, it was pathetic that he couldn’t even let it go for a second.  He was supposed to be here having fun, enjoying the company and delicious food and relaxing.  He was supposed to be feeling good.  Taking a break.  A couple days away from JARVIS and his workshop wasn’t going to matter.  It wouldn’t fucking kill him.

But here he was, and it hurt.  He missed Steve like he hadn’t much over the last few weeks.  He was letting himself really feel it now; there wasn’t much choice because it was so strong.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d attended an event like this without Steve by his side, smiling and courteous and pointedly ignoring every flirty pass he made.  Steve’s absence throbbed like a newly opened wound, weeping unspent tears like blood.  Tony had to keep blinking to hold them back.

Pepper sighed.  “Tony, come with me and get some food.  Get some air.  Come meet my family.”

Down the way a bit by one of the long tables, he caught sight of a black dress and red hair.  _Natasha._   His heart skipped a beat, and his body ached with energy.  He hadn’t been able to talk to her since she’d left to investigate the Coast Guard personnel involved with the New Venture.  She’d been somewhat off the radar.  He should have known she’d come back for Pepper’s party, though.  “Excuse me,” he said, and he took off in a brisk walk for the table.  In his wake, the others were probably wondering at him, worried or questioning or whatever, but he didn’t care.  He just rushed to her side.  “Natasha.”

Natasha had spotted him right when he’d spotted her.  All she had to do was give a little shake of her head, and Tony’s sudden hopes were all but trampled.  She took his arm and pulled him subtly closer, simultaneously reaching for a glass of champagne.  “Nothing,” she quietly declared.

 _No._   “Nothing?”

“Everyone I talked to…  No one has any memory of anything suspicious.  No sign of anyone who didn’t belong there.  I managed to speak with almost everyone who was on the scene.”  Tony grimaced and looked away.  Natasha was clearly displeased as well.  Her frown was tense and she was uncharacteristically frustrated.  “It wasn’t easy, but I also got a hold of the service records of everybody serving on the Coast Guard’s ships from the captains to the seamen.  There were no links to the Black Skulls, financial or otherwise.”

 _Damn it._   “Then how’d they get Steve off the rig?  There weren’t any other ships in the area!”

Natasha shook her head.  Her voice was low and troubled.  “You’re sure someone kidnapped him?”

He wanted to be.  He desperately did.  But suddenly all his certainty melted.  He still had no evidence of that, and he had to admit it.  “I don’t know.”  Natasha frowned, like she, too, had been hoping that he had found something to substantiate their beliefs.  “I just know he’s not dead.  He had to escape the rig somehow, so someone’s lying.”

 _Conspiracy._   That crazy thought came again.  He’d had a lot of desperate ideas, grasping at straws and all that, but this was maybe the craziest.  The government kidnapping Steve.  Or SHIELD.  His mind always ran with it before he could stop it.  Nick Fury lying to his face about Steve being dead.  President Ellis, steeped in fake compassion as he told Tony how deeply sorry he was.  The super soldier serum was impossible to replicate because it was so completely intertwined with Steve’s DNA, so if someone wanted to try to produce more super soldiers, they’d need Steve.  And there probably wasn’t a government in the world that wouldn’t kill for the chance.

Even Natasha, who trusted hardly anyone outside the Avengers, looked doubtful.  “If someone is, they’ve got a lot of people helping.”  That was a subtle way of inferring that paranoia was maybe getting the better of them.  The larger the conspiracy had to be to cover the facts, the less likely it was real or even possible.

Tony wasn’t prepared to let it go, though.  “Doesn’t mean it’s impossible.  SHIELD could–”

Natasha was incensed.  Only the flash of anger in her eyes gave it away.  “You really think Nick Fury is covering up Steve’s kidnapping?”

Tony flushed.  Hearing her actually say it made him feel absolutely, shamefully stupid.  “No.”

The conversation died.  Tony could see he’d struck a nerve in her, insulted her or hit something too close to him, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her abandoning him, so he backed off.  Around them the party went on, soft voices and laughter.  Though it was right there, it felt millions of miles away.  “I’ll keep looking,” Natasha finally said.  She wasn’t happy.  “Maybe I missed something.”

As much as he wanted to doubt that, Tony couldn’t.  Natasha was one of the best spies in the world.  If there was something to find, she would have found it.  She sipped her drink and met Tony’s gaze more firmly.  She still seemed rattled, but she wasn’t as angry as she had been.  Maybe his bullshit had soured her.  Maybe working through the interviews she did and combing through the data she’d had had hardened her about this.  Convinced her they were chasing nothing.  Tony wasn’t so sure they weren’t.  _No.  Steve’s alive, and we’re going to find him._

“Fury approached me about the state of the team,” she quietly declared, and Tony jerked out of his thoughts at the sudden change in topic.  Just like that, their quest to find answers seemed to be concluded.  “He wants to know if you’re fit to lead it.”

“Fuck, can’t he wait a goddamn minute?” Tony snarled.  Betrayal made him feel sick, even though it wasn’t as if she’d told him he was crazy and that she was abandoning their efforts.  At least, not directly.  “Steve’s barely been dead a month!”

“It’s been six weeks,” Natasha calmly corrected.  “The world still needs the Avengers.”  The uncomfortable knot of emotions in his belly twisted up even further, and he turned and looked at the others again.  The team, or what was left of it.  Pepper was talking to them, but he could tell none of them were really engaged in the conversation.  Thor still seemed lost and forlorn.  Clint was staring blankly.  Bruce was putting more effort into paying attention, but he kept glancing at Tony.  Tony caught his gaze, and his friend couldn’t even manage a comforting smile. 

Natasha let go of a long breath, and here again she seemed young and fragile.  Just like that.  Everything was teetering.  “He was pressing me for information, but I wanted to talk to you first.  No one would blame you if you didn’t want to take command, but…”  He knew what she was going to say before she said it.  That didn’t make it hurt any less.  “Steve would–”

“Don’t tell me what Steve would have wanted,” he hissed.  “He led the team.  He was our captain.”

“You ran things right at his side, Tony.”  Her voice was soft but sincere.  Pleading almost.  “No one is more qualified than you.”

“Don’t say that, either.  It’s enough that I have to live without him.  It’s enough that you gave me his shield back.  Don’t ask me to–”

Across the ballroom, someone – one of Happy’s sisters, maybe? – was tapping a fork to the side of her champagne flute.  The hum of conversation respectfully quieted, and everyone turned as Happy had made his way over to Pepper.  He was smiling broadly, putting his arm around his fiancé.  “I just wanted to thank everyone for coming tonight,” his sister said in a loud, clear voice.  She was beaming as she turned to the couple.  “Pepper, Happy…  Harold.”  She corrected herself with a grin.  “I’m so glad you two have found each other.  You’re the right woman for my brother, Pepper, no doubt about it.  Everyone can see it.  This is going to sound incredibly corny, but we’ve always called him ‘Happy’, but now he really is.”  A good-natured chuckle went through the room.  Now that everyone was looking elsewhere, Tony finally gave into temptation and reached into his suit pocket for his phone.  “And I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally have a sister.  I can’t wait to welcome you into our family, Pepper.  You both lead such incredible lives.  I can only imagine how much more incredible they’re about to become in a few months at your wedding.”  He thumbed the screen on and checked his notifications.  Nothing.  Not a single thing from JARVIS. 

_Nothing._

“And now I thought it might be nice for the man responsible for bringing you two together to say something.  Mr. Tony Stark.”

Tony looked up, the blood draining from his face at the sound of his name and the round of applause after it.  Panicked, he pocketed his phone gracelessly.  Every pair of eyes in the room was on him, and he felt cold with terror.  No one had said _anything_ about him having to speak _._ Happy and Pepper shared horrified looks, which was probably a sign that this hadn’t been planned.  Obviously Happy’s sister either was living under a rock or as stupid as one.  The weight of all those stares made Tony feel sick and dizzy, but he cleared his throat and managed to raise his glass.  His brain was utterly blank as he stood there, suffering in the expectant silence.  And Steve’s wedding ring around his neck felt like it weighed more than the world.

But some part of him managed to function.  He tried a smile.  “To the happy couple,” he said, raising his glass.  Everyone around him followed suit.  Tony could barely find his voice as he stared at Pepper and Happy, at the happiness warring with pain in Pepper’s eyes.  “Never take even a single second for granted.”

Everyone raised their glasses with the toast, murmuring congratulations and agreements, but Tony couldn’t stand to take a sip of champagne.  The second the attention was back on Pepper and Happy, he slipped away.  He didn’t care if people noticed him go.  He didn’t care if it made him an asshole, a selfish coward, an awful friend.  He just couldn’t stand another second of pretending.  _The good things._

There weren’t any good things left.  He could only delude himself so much.  Everything good he’d loved had burned in that fire.

Everything good he’d had had vanished with Steve.

* * *

Pepper had arranged a driver to take him home, but he snapped at the guy to get out of the Audi the second he exited the party, and the poor man was so flummoxed at his rudeness that he just did as Tony demanded.  It wasn’t smart, driving himself home.  He hadn’t had anything to drink, but he wasn’t in his right mind.  He _knew_ that, could feel himself coming apart.  Maybe it was over.  His search.  Their little investigation.  If Natasha had found nothing after interviewing everyone she could and running down every lead there was, if he’d found nothing beyond some weird digital static after digging through all the data on the black boxes, if there was _nothing to be found…_   Maybe Steve really was dead.  Everyone had said it.  There was no evidence to counter it, not really, and a hell of a lot of evidence to confirm it.  And maybe Tony really was doing this for the wrong reasons, like Fury had said.  An inability to process Steve’s death.  Lack of acceptance.  Denial, leading right into obsession.

No.  No, no, no.  He wasn’t going to believe that.  He physically shook at the wheel, his vision blurred by exhausted tears.  All he could think was that he wasn’t crazy.  He wasn’t.  _He wasn’t._

Driving was definitely reckless and stupid, and he took the winding turns up the coast way too fast, but by some miracle he got home in one piece.  He staggered inside the mansion, JARVIS opening doors and turning the lights on for him.  The place was a blur of shadows and memories as he made his way up to his bedroom.  And then he stopped.  Stared at the bed.  It was a California king, adorned in expensive dark blue linens.  He and Steve had never spent much time here, not like they did at the Tower.  Even still, they had slept in it quite a few times.  Had sex in it a few times.  Cuddled and talked and laughed.  Argued once after Steve had stupidly taken a huge risk during a battle and nearly gotten himself killed.  The memories were coming to the forefront, like ghosts rising from the mist.  Steve’s voice and Steve’s life and Steve’s love.  Steve’s legs around him tight, their mouths pressed hotly together when Tony leaned down to kiss him.  Steve sleeping as the morning sun off the coast washed over him, and Tony laying there and watching, too afraid to touch him because he didn’t want to disturb the perfect picture even the slightest.  Steve’s hands on his back, rubbing out the knots and aches after a long day dealing with the board of Stark Industries.  Steve everywhere and all around him.  Steve was haunting this place as much as he had the Tower.  There were so many memories, and they came unbidden, swarming over Tony until he couldn’t stand it, until he was running back out to the spacious living room and kitchen and heading toward the bar.  A drink.  He needed a drink.  He needed…

 _No._   He stopped in the middle of the shadowy room.  The bar was there, just across the way and taunting him.  The bottles were lined up and gleaming in the low light, and Tony shivered as he stared at them.  _No.  No._   He wasn’t doing this.  He wasn’t drinking himself into oblivion.  Running from his problems.  Disrespecting himself and Steve.  He was better than this.

But he wasn’t sleeping in that bed.  He ordered JARVIS to kill the lights and close the blinds in the living room.  Off went his suit jacket, his tie, his belt and shoes and socks, and he went down onto the couch.  It wasn’t very comfortable, a really expensive piece of furniture made to accent the modern look and feel of the house rather than be a pleasant place to relax.  He didn’t care.  He was so tired, so drained, that he was asleep in a heartbeat.

_He was back home.  Back in the Tower.  Walking down from their bedroom, where he’d woken up alone and cold.  Down to the workshop.  The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside.  “JARVIS, what’s going on?  What’s…”  Then he smelled it.  Smoke.  Acrid and awful.  It was seeping into the hallway through the vents.  Tony watched, horrified, taking a few steps back._

_And he heard it.  A scream, tortured and deep.  He jolted, heart jackhammering in his chest and seemingly pounding against the arc reactor.  The cry continued until it choked off, but another one came right on its tail, just as long and terrible.  Tony recognized the voice instantly.  “Steve…” he whispered.  Terror left him reeling and dumbly staring at those tinted windows.  Flashes of light were dulled by the gray, but Tony knew those flashes were flames.  The workshop was on fire.  “Steve?  Steve!”_

_Steve was trapped inside._

_Panicked beyond measure, Tony rushed to the doors.  They were sealed tight.  There was no way to force them open, no way to break them, and he knew that.  He’d designed them that way.  He pounded on them all the same, throwing all his strength into each blow.  “Steve!  Oh, God, baby…  Steve!”  Steve wailed again, desperate and teeming with agony.  Tony had never heard him scream before.  It cut through him, flayed his soul, left him a singular, throbbing thought like a nerve pulsing.  He had to save him!  “Let me in!  JARVIS!”  He threw his entire body into the glass of the door, but it didn’t give.  Didn’t even crack.  The smoke grew thicker, and the room turned hot with the blaze on the other side, and Steve was dying.  “I have to get in there!  He needs me!  I have to – JARVIS, I need the suit!”  Tony gasped around a sob, banging on the doors again and again.  “I need the suit!  I need–”_

_“You said you wanted to see it, sir.”  JARVIS’ voice didn’t sound right.  It was echoing, thunderously loud, and cruel.  Dripping in spite.  “You said you wanted to see it.  You wanted to study it.  Shall I show you?”_

_Tony’s heart dropped in his chest.  “What?” he whispered._

_“Look.”_

_The tint of the windows faded to sharp and awful clarity.  “No,” Tony whimpered, knowing what was there, what he’d see because he’d seen it so many times already, over and over and over again until he’d become numb to what it was, how awful it was, and he didn’t want to see it now, not now, not like this–_

_But there it was.  Steve, crouched behind his shield in the center of the holopad.  Eyes shut tight.  Teeth gritted.  Terror and agony on his face.  Tears.  There was fire all around him, huge flames that were blindingly yellow and orange.  They were licking at him, grabbing him, pulling, destroying.  Consuming.  He was still screaming, the cry barely audible over the roar of the inferno.  Tony shook his head.  “No, no.  Please…  Steve!”  He pounded on the door, pounded with everything he had.  Pounded until his body was bruised and hurt.  “Steve, no!”_

_“You did not listen to him, sir.”_

_Tony sobbed, frantic and panicked beyond the thought.  Another wail resounded, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he collapsed against the doors.  “JARVIS, let me in.  Please let me in!”_

_“He told you,” the AI said instead, “that it could happen at any time.  Don’t you remember?”_

_“Let me in!  Steve!  Steve!  Somebody help me!”_

_JARVIS did nothing of the sort.  “He told you that he could die and leave you behind.  It is part of who you are and what you do.  The price.”_

_“No,” Tony moaned.  He slumped, sobbing hysterically.  “That’s not true.”_

_“The sacrifice.  He was yours.”_

_“No!”  Renewed fury rushed over him, and he rolled onto his knees.  He slammed both his fists into the door, did it until there was blood smearing from broken knuckles.  “I can save him!  Give me the suit!_

_“No.  You cannot change it.”_

_“Open the door!  Open the fucking door!”_

_“You cannot save him,” JARVIS coolly said.  “He is lost.  You will never have him back.  Look.”_

_Tony did.  He stopped, stared through the glass, saw Steve struggling in the fire.  For an incredible second, the flames all but fell away, and Steve was able to stand.  Impossible as it was, he turned around.  He was burned hideously.  His face.  His uniform.  His body.  Charred black and bloody and awful.  A nightmare.  The blue of his eyes was all Tony could recognize.  “Tony,” he whimpered.  “Help me.”_

_That was it.  The blaze surged like a predator hungry for its prey, like a sadistic tyrant reaching for its captive.  It grabbed Steve tight and dragged him into its embraces, and Steve was gone._

_Tony screamed.  The door shattered._

And he woke up.  Before he even knew where he was or what was happening, he rolled and fell from the couch.  His hip hitting the floor jolted him even further awake – _it was a nightmare a nightmare thank God not real_ – and he lay on the floor, panting like crazy and sobbing around every breath.  A few seconds passed, and he was lost in them, shivering and trying to breathe through the pain in his chest and the receding horror in his head.  A plaintive wail burst through chapped lips, and he dropped his head into his hands and yanked at his own hair until it hurt.  He wanted to die.

“No,” he said to himself.  Suddenly he was scrambling to his feet, which was fairly remarkable considering his limbs were all uncoordinated and as firm as jelly.  He looked around the shadowy living room, feeling frightened and exposed.  Useless and weak.  _No!_ “JARVIS, I need the suit.”

“Sir?”  JARVIS sounded as he always did now, concerned and sympathetic.  Not at all like the judgmental monster in his dream.  Tony’s brain skittered with the memory of that, and he barely swallowed down his nausea.  “Sir, are you–”

“I need the suit,” he gasped.

“Sir–”

“I need the suit right fucking now!” he shouted, staggering away from the couch.  He headed to the rear of the room, the huge, spacious, extravagant room that suddenly seemed like a tomb.  Phantom flames were grabbing at him too, and he could still smell the stink of the smoke, still feel the heat of the fire.  Wrenching open the sliding doors to the exterior, he burst out into the night, the warm, salty air a relief to his heaving lungs.  He grabbed the railing at the edge of the balcony and stared out over the inky ocean, a lonely moon shedding light over the crystalline surface mournfully.  It seemed so peaceful but so far away.  Unreachable.

Steve’s cry echoed across his mind.  _“Tony, help me.”_

Iron Man zoomed up from beneath, red and gold and powerful.  The Mark VIII.  It was a prototype.  He hadn’t completed his work on the remote interface yet, hadn’t even begun to test it in fact, but JARVIS seemed to be controlling the suit fairly accurately.  Tony stepped back from the balcony and raised his arms.  The armor came apart and enveloped him in one smooth motion.  The helmet closed over his head, and the faceplate came down.  The HUD winked to life, beautiful and clear.  Tony finally felt safe.  “JARVIS, I want the face trace results in here.”

“Sir, I don’t–”

“Stop arguing with me and do it!”  He fired the thrusters in the boots, lowering his arms and firing the palm repulsors, too.  The flight system was far from perfect, and he noticed it right away as the suit juddered uncertainly.  That didn’t stop him, though.  “Get me a flight path to the rig.”

JARVIS seemed content to be a pain in the ass.  “The New Venture is considered a closed crime scene.  In addition, the rig is extremely damaged and unsafe.  Access is forbidden.”

Like he fucking cared.  “Flight path.  Right now.”

JARVIS knew better than to argue any further and a second later, a map of his route to the Gulf appeared on the HUD.  With the speeds at which Iron Man could fly, he’d be there in less than ten minutes.  Satisfied with that, he shot into the sky.

Damaged didn’t quite cover the state of the rig when he reached it.  It hadn’t yet been towed to Galveston Bay, so its dark, hulking carcass was right where he’d last seen it, abandoned in the middle of the ocean.  A couple of salvage ships, a Coast Guard Cutter, and a massive tug boat were anchored around the blackened remains.  He didn’t really give a damn about avoiding detection, diving low and screaming across the ocean.  He had the schematics and the maps SHIELD had made during the investigation, so it was easy enough to find his way to the remains of the generator room.

He descended through the hole he’d blown in the wreckage the day Steve had died.  The crews who’d investigated the bombing had widened it, and he dropped down and landed on the floor with a loud thud.  He looked around, breathless, heart racing.  He didn’t know what he was doing now that he was here.  What he wanted.  What he hoped to find.  He just knew he had to find something.  _He had to._   “JARVIS, where was Steve?”

JARVIS flashed a location on the HUD.  Tony headed over there, the clanking of Iron Man’s boots on the sooty, charred grating loud and jarring.  The forensics teams had gathered up a great deal of the ash (or rain had inevitably washed some away) because the floor was significantly cleaner than it had been, and the remaining wreckage had been cleared.  The room was starkly bare now, gutted completely.  Tony reached the spot where Steve had died.  All the crates and equipment that had been there were long gone, leaving no way to truly differentiate it.  It was simply a place like any other.

Tony looked around, Iron Man’s scanners roving over the area in search of anything.  Infrared signatures.  Odd radiation.  Structural anomalies.  Anything at all.  He knelt on the ground, wiping his hand through some remaining ash.  There was nothing there.  “Damn it,” he hissed, looking around more frantically.  How the hell had Steve survived the blast?  How had he gotten out of the room, off the rig?

_Where is he?_

Angry, he left the spot where Steve had been before the explosion and looked through the remains of the rig.  He searched for any sign of _anything_.  Wreckage he could examine.  Holes in the walls or floors that didn’t look random or caused by the fire or explosion.  Signs of someone else having been there since the attack or something that had happened that the forensics team had missed.  He even examined the crew quarters for evidence that one or more of them had been in league with Skulls, though nothing had turned up in any investigation so far, not SHIELD’s nor Natasha’s nor his own.  He grew more and more frantic as he went along because it was pointless.  The rig was completely in ruin, and there was nothing to find.

Battling frustration that was rapidly approaching hysteria, he jetted out the way he came in.  He didn’t give it much thought, simply rocketing down and into the black ocean beneath the rig.  Maybe…  He didn’t want to think about Steve somehow falling from the rig and drowning beneath it, but had anyone checked?  Maybe he’d been blown out of the room and off the platform?  Quite a few sections of the bulkhead in the generator room had been simply disintegrated by the blast, so it could be possible.  _Could be.  Not likely._   He was grasping at fucking straws again, but he didn’t care, diving deep with the light from Iron Man’s face, arc reactor, and palm repulsors lighting the way.  There was a hell of a lot of wreckage tangled up in the platforms supports, and he scanned it all in a frenzy.  It didn’t escape him that he was searching for Steve’s body; there was no way he could have survived this, trapped under here for six weeks.  Just the idea of it was horrific, but it didn’t matter.  There was no sign of anything other mangled metal and hunks of concrete.  He went lower.  The drill shaft was still there, silent and idle, so he followed it down to the bottom of the ocean.  It wasn’t terribly deep here, which was good because Iron Man wouldn’t be able to withstand the pressure.  Already the HUD was filling with warnings and JARVIS was nattering in his ear, but Tony didn’t care.  He reached the seafloor and scanned there as well.

Again, nothing but wreckage.  He moved a few chunks aside, vaguely noticing JARVIS counting down how long the suit could function at this depth.  He worked until the absolute last second, until JARVIS was practically begging him to surface.  Even then he did with a ragged cry, shooting upward through the darkness to burst from the water and rocket higher into the silvery clouds.  Aloft, he looked over the Gulf.  The dead rig.  The quiet ships.  The expanse of the water as far as he could see, rippling serenely under the moon and stars.  _Peaceful._

_“Tony, help me!”_

Tony sobbed raggedly and flew off, wildly shooting through the night.  “Sir,” JARVIS said worriedly.  “Sir, where are you going?”

“Looking for him,” he answered, trying to see through the tears and talk through the pounding of his heart in his throat.  “I gotta find him.  He’s not dead, JARVIS.  He’s not dead, and he needs me.  He needs me.”  Ahead the Texas coastline appeared, and he screamed toward it.  Now that he was there, the resolution of the face trace improved with Iron Man’s scanners.  He didn’t give a shit about being subtle, rushing toward the city and descending to weave through the buildings.  “Where are you, Steve?” he gasped.  He’d look himself if he had to.  He’d search everywhere, search until he couldn’t anymore.  He’d do anything.  He had to find Steve.  Steve needed him.

_Where are you?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Just a quick warning: this chapter and the next one are where Tony kinda sorta starts to lose it completely. In this one he also has a rather intimate dream. Read at your own discretion :-).

“What the hell were you up to last night?”

Tony barely cracked open an eye.  There was a figure looming over him, a figure with spikey brown hair and concerned eyes.  _Clint?_ Lord.  Where the fuck was he?

Oh.  Right.  Tony groaned and leaned up from the couch in the Tower’s common room.  He’d collapsed there early that morning.  His head was pounding, and he felt like shit.  Bright sunlight was streaming in through the windows to the right, so it was well past dawn.  He blinked at the painful illumination, trying to focus and remember.  “Nothing,” he grumbled, rubbing at his aching eyes.

Clint frowned, leaning back from the couch.  He had a cup of coffee in his hand, one he’d probably made for himself.  He handed it to Tony instead, and groggily Tony got himself sitting.  “Nothing.  Right.”  Blearily Tony appraised the cup before taking it.  He rubbed his face, trying to wake up more completely.  Clint sighed and sat down on the adjacent loveseat.  “You look like shit, dude.  We’ve all noticed.”  He shook his head.  “Not that it’s been easy to notice, since no one’s seen you in days.”

Tony sniffled, finally getting his brain functioning enough to remember exactly what had happened the day before.  Not that there was anything significant or special about it.  Another day in his workshop, working frantically at the holopad, pouring over the data from the explosion.  Another night roaming the world.  This was the fourth or fifth time this week alone.  Hours and hours spent flying from city to city, searching for Steve, hunting down any sign of him.  It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.  One person in a world filled with more than seven billion people.  Even with his eyes on every cell phone, surveillance system, satellite feed, and camera he could access worldwide, it was _still_ an impossible dream, finding Steve amongst all the souls on earth.  But he wasn’t giving up.  He knew Steve was out there.  He just had to find him.

“Been busy,” he finally answered.  “You know, with stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint dubiously said.  “Like flying around like a crazy man on some insane quest to find Steve.”  Tony froze with the coffee cup halfway to his lips.  He looked up at Clint who was staring at him sadly.  “Did you really think no one was going to see you doing this?”

“Didn’t care, to be honest,” Tony said, sipping the coffee.  It was too hot and too strong for his tastes.  Clint took his coffee black.  So did Steve.  Steve always had some complaint about the way people drank coffee nowadays.  Too sugary, too creamy, too many flavors and foams and more a dessert than a drink.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it kinda does when a mourning nation sees the husband of its fallen hero acting like a reckless idiot on a crusade chasing a ghost.”  Tony flinched.  Clint sighed.  “You gotta stop, man.  Fury’s already up Nat’s ass about it.  She’s trying to shield you from the worst of it.  And she’s been down in Texas again, following in your footsteps.”  He didn’t look pleased about that.  “Did you ask her to do that?”

Tony couldn’t tell if Clint was accusing him of something.  Truth be told, hearing that Natasha was still investigating made him feel better.  He hadn’t seen her or talked to her in a couple weeks.  Not since the party.  “No.  She offered.”  Clint frowned harder.  “Look, Fury doesn’t own me.  He told me I was free to look into what happened, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“What you’re doing is scaring people.  It’s all over the internet.  People see you out there, very clearly searching for someone, and they start wondering what’s going on.  What really happened to Steve.  It’s trending on Twitter, for crying out loud.”  Clint fished out his phone and shoved it into Tony’s face.  Sure enough, there it was.  _#CapDeathConspiracy.  #IMHunting.  #WheresSteveRogers.  #StarkInsane._   He’d been so engrossed that he hadn’t even noticed this happening.  “You gotta stop.”

“Why?  Maybe it’s true,” Tony retorted, pushing the phone away and returning to his coffee.  God, he got pissy so easily nowadays.  “Maybe there is some kind of conspiracy.”

“Tony, Christ, you’re the smartest man I know.  The sharpest.  Do you honestly think SHIELD is covering up Captain America’s kidnapping somehow?  Or the US government?  That’s insane.”  Clint threw his arms up.  “There’s no connection to the pirates!  No money trail!  They just set this up for free?  And I was there, Tony.  I felt that bomb go off.  Steve could not have survived it.  No one could.  How the hell could they kidnap him – kidnap _Captain America_ – with everything blown to hell and the fire and the eyes of SHIELD and the Coast Guard watching?”

Tony gave a short, frustrated breath.  He didn’t need Clint blowing holes in his theories.  “I don’t know.”

“It’s impossible.”

“This is _why_ I’ve had JARVIS turn everyone away at the door.  So I wouldn’t have to hear your bullshit.”  Clint was hurt, but he hid it with a clenched jaw and angry eyes.  Tony went on anyway, exasperated as all hell.  “I don’t know what I think!  I just know it’s not what it seems.”

“You know or you hope?” Clint countered.  Tony sharply looked away.  He set his coffee down on the table and pushed himself to his feet.  “Tony, come on!  You have to stop!”

“Fuck off,” Tony growled before stalking toward the hallway.

“You’re not the only one who lost him, you know!” Clint called.  Tony jerked and stopped.  A moment of tense silence came while Clint tried to gather himself.  “We all loved him, and we all lost him.  _Everyone._   And I’m not saying it compares, because it really doesn’t, and I _know_ that–”

“You wanna know what I know?” Tony snapped, turning around and getting right into Clint’s face.  The archer winced but stood his ground.  “I know I can’t remember what his voice sounds like, what he looks like when he smiles, what he _felt_ like.”  Clint’s taut expression broke further.  “I know I can’t _function_ without him.  Not in any way that matters.  I know I’ll wake up alone when I fall asleep and that terrifies me.  So I can’t sleep.  I don’t.  Not in our bed.  Not anywhere.  No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I dream about him.  I dream that he’s out there.  He’s lost and he’s scared and hurt and he needs me and I’m not there because I can’t find him.”  His voice broke.  Every night since that first dream…  Every fucking night.  It was like clockwork.  Like torture.  Steve in pain.  Steve terrified.  Steve screaming for him.

Steve, just out of reach.  “And, yeah, maybe they’re just dreams.  My subconscious fucking with me.  My guilt and grief manifesting itself, my goddamn _obsession,_ but you know what, Clint?  Maybe they’re not.”

“Jesus, Tony,” Clint whispered.  His eyes welled.  “Just…”

“And I know if I don’t do this, I’ll hate myself more than I already do.  So maybe it’s upsetting people, but–”

“Thor’s gone.”

That came out of nowhere.  Tony actually backpedaled he was so surprised.  Clint stared at him.  He wasn’t out to hurt him; Tony knew that.  It hurt all the same, the way his hazel eyes were so even and unwavering.  “Two days ago.  He went back to Asgard.”  _No._   “He…  He wanted to say goodbye to you, but you weren’t answering and JARVIS wouldn’t let anyone in.”

Tony felt like he was floating, weightless.  _Thor’s gone._ “Why?”

Clint shrugged, but it was a shitty mask for how upset he was.  “What reason was there for him to stay?  There’s nothing here.  Steve’s gone.  You’re…  You’re shutting everyone out.  Nat’s lost.”  Tony flinched again.  “Bruce is…  Well, Bruce is Bruce.  He’s around, I think.  But he was only interested in the Avengers when we were fighting _together._   Now there’s no one left.”  Clint bit his lip, nodding to keep his composure.  “We don’t have a leader.  Fury thought you’d…  No, never mind.  You don’t need to hear that.”

“No,” Tony agreed.  “I don’t.  Steve _sustained_ the team.  I don’t want to take that.  No.”

“Then there is no team,” Clint returned a bit harshly, clearly upset that Tony was dismissing the fact that the Avengers were all but falling apart.  Guilt worked its way over Tony in a nauseating wave.  They needed him, Steve’s closest friend and husband, to pick up the responsibility and be strong and sure and _lead._

And he couldn’t.  He’d never felt more of a failure.  Steve’s legacy, everything he’d worked to create and protect through the Avengers…  It was dying.  It _had_ died right along with him, because Tony was too chicken shit to be the man he supposed to be.  _Captain America’s partner.  His right-hand man.  His best friend and husband._   God, he didn’t know who he was anymore.

The silence that came was suffocating.  Tony stared at a spot over Clint’s shoulder, unable to look him in the eye.  Unable to offer up the promises the other man surely wanted to hear.  _It’s alright.  I’ll take over.  I’ll keep us going.  I’ll let Steve go and take his place._   He couldn’t say that.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.

Clint eventually nodded, more to himself than to Tony.  “Anyway, Thor said goodbye.  He didn’t say when he’d be back.  And I suppose since I’ve got you here…  I’m heading out, too.  I, uh, requested some assignments from Hill, and she’s got a few for me, so…”  He tried for a smile, but it failed, and he just looked crestfallen and disappointed.  This had been his family, too.  The Avengers.  All of them together.  And without Steve…  _Scattering to the wind._

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered.  “I just…”

“I know,” Clint replied.  “You gotta do what you gotta do.  And I can’t – I can’t blame you.  It’s just…  It hurts.  You know that.”  Another failure of a smile.  Clint grasped his shoulder, pulled him closer, hugging weakly.  “Take care of yourself, huh?  Not sure about much anymore, but I’m sure Steve would’ve wanted that.  You taking care of yourself.”

Tony couldn’t find his voice to answer that he would, that he’d be okay, because he knew it was a lie.  It really didn’t matter anyway.  Clint had already left.

* * *

Days turned to weeks.

Weeks turned to months.

Six months after Steve had disappeared, it was the dead of March.  A blanket of chilly, desolate misery covered New York.  The weather was gloomy and unpleasant, gray, ugly sleet and freezing rain.  Not that Tony would really know.  He’d hardly paid attention to the outside world in weeks.  He’d hardly seen anyone, hardly talked to anyone other than JARVIS and himself.  His days consisted of laboring over his investigation and going out every night to search before collapsing in the storeroom/bedroom for whatever sleep he could manage.  Christmas came and went and he spent it alone much to the chagrin of Pepper and Rhodey.  New Year’s, too, was becoming a distant memory.  All of January.  February.  Valentine’s, which he and Steve always pretended to ignore and disparage before trying all day to one-up each other with gifts and surprises and affection.  _All_ of those days were just gone like they had never happened.  Now it was almost spring, or it could be if winter would let go and move on.  How apropos really, but again, not that he’d notice.  Time was a blur, a monotonous, tedious, unending parade of fruitless and futile efforts and ideas.  Tony couldn’t stop.  He wouldn’t stop.

This was all he had left of Steve, and he wasn’t letting it go.

The workshop where he had once designed and invented and tinkered, where he’d made things that protected his friends and helped people and did good in this world…  It was entirely covered in things from the New Venture.  He had schematics and files and papers everywhere.  Complete dossiers on _everyone_ involved in the assault, from the Roxxon employees to the pirates to the Coast Guard officers (getting that had been difficult, especially with Natasha refusing to divulge it to him) to the SHIELD STRIKE Team.  It was all over, covering the walls in an organized flow of information.  Before the rig had finally been towed to Galveston for salvage and scrapping, Tony had taken chunks of the debris for analysis.  He’d looked for aberrant materials, liquids or otherwise. Things that didn’t belong.  He’d collected other things, too, personal effects from the workers.  Cameras.  Computers that were somewhat intact.  Even wreckage from the ocean.  He’d examined it all for anything that was out of the ordinary.  There was nothing.

The face trace was running continually, too, churning through exabytes of data as fast as possible.  It was constantly monitoring worldwide, pulling data from so many sources that he’d had to enlarge the Tower’s computer core again.  He’d written algorithms to begin storing faces, cataloguing and tracing people’s movements to remove them more efficiently from the analysis.  That was a tad voyeuristic and probably a huge infringement on privacy and civil liberties, but oh well.  In addition to looking for Steve, he’d added the faces of all the Skulls, even though they were all dead (most confirmed during SHIELD’s initial investigation).  At first, he’d only investigated hits that were matched to Steve or one of the other targets at 80% accuracy or higher.  As time had worn on, though, and he’d gotten more frustrated and desperate, he’d lowered his criterion drastically.  Now he was checking into anything that matched at all.  And, again, there was nothing.

Almost every night he was out there, searching the world over, Iron Man sleek and powerful in the sky.  In the suit he could reach across the world in no time.  If the facial recognition algorithm hadn’t produced any hits that day, he was rote working his way across the globe, looking everywhere he possibly could from remote mountain reaches to the deserts of northern Africa to the major cities of China to the rural regions of USA.  He’d taken to going lower profile in big cities; the media was over Steve’s death and had been for months, but he didn’t want to stir the pot if he could avoid it.  Fury wasn’t on him about it anymore either, and only once had Pepper contacted him about doing an interview to set the record straight.  In no short terms, fuck that.  He wasn’t interested in setting any record straight, in getting up there and telling the world that Steve was definitely dead and there was no reason not to accept it.  No, it was easier to just hide what he was up to as best he could.  To keep going and keep it as inconspicuous as possible.  Hell, if he hadn’t been trying to keep a fairly low profile, he’d put “MISSING” posters up and get Steve’s picture on every milk carton in America.  More than once he’d thought about it because all his searching, like all his data analysis, had yielded _nothing._

Of course, going without his armor was dangerous.  He’d wandered into some places not too welcoming of him asking questions.  Those altercations had typically ended with him employing those self-defense skills Steve had insisted he’d learn but still nursing a busted up nose or sore ribs upon his return home for his troubles.  He’d started bringing money when he chanced the darker areas of the world, the rough neighborhoods that were riddled with organized crime and evil.  He wasn’t above bribing these monsters, buying information if he could.  Every time he’d been taken for a ride, but he didn’t care.  The couple hundred or thousand dollars didn’t matter.  Nor did the bumps and bruises.

At least not to him.  He limped back to the workshop one evening, carrying a couple boxes with new data uplink equipment in them and a half-drunk Red Bull.  He wanted to enhance the Mark VIII’s speed in receiving and sending information to JARVIS; it was lagging when the face trace results came in within major metropolitan areas, and that was making his search less efficient, which wouldn’t do at all considering the amount of ground he had to cover.  Outside it was raining, a cold, dreary deluge that was melting the paltry snow that had come down the night before.  “Shitty weather, isn’t it?” he mumbled to DUM-E and U, not even looking at them as he set the energy drink on his work table and the components down near Iron Man.

“Definitely is.”

 _Ah, fuck._   Rhodey folded his arms across his chest where he was standing in the center of the holopad.  His jacket and polo weren’t that wet, so he’d been here for a while.  Waiting for Tony.  He looked angry, upset, and, above all, _worried_.  “Long time, no see.”

Tony rose to his full height.  “Taking it personal?  Because it’s not.”

Rhodey nodded before making a show of looking around the workshop.  He appraised the debris, the mess of papers and files (it probably looked like a mess to everyone else anyway), the actual mess of food wrappers and tools and empty cans of energy drinks.  Tony could tell he was particularly bothered by the holopad, where those few frames right before the explosion had consumed Steve were yet again on display.  “Figure out the distortion?” Rhodey casually asked, but he appeared ill and angry as he stared at Steve’s pained face.

Tony decided not to read into his tone.  “Not yet.”  And that was the sad truth.  The distortion was still the thing that bothered him the most out of it all.  With JARVIS’ help, Tony had studied it to no end, analyzed it, pulled it apart and put it back together.  He was absolutely certain at this point that the distortion was digital and it had to be coming from someone interrupting the data feed to the black boxes.  Someone who’d hacked the data stream and changed those final frames.  He still had no proof of that, though, and aside from those few other blips on the other camera feeds, he hadn’t found any other evidence of tampering.  It was untraceable.  So far.

Truth be told, though, the most disturbing thing about it was how he’d studied the footage of Steve dying so many times that he saw it when he closed his eyes, that he’d memorized even the smallest details, that it felt like it was a part of him.  Obsession didn’t cover it, this surprisingly detached, clinical feeling he had now when he watched his husband’s last seconds.  It was fucking frightening.

And Rhodey knew him so well that he _knew_ that without Tony saying anything.  “Maybe it’s time to take a break.”

Grunting, Tony wiped away the image of Steve with a swing of his arm.  “No.”

“You want to tell me who kicked the crap out of you?”

That was asked softly and nonthreateningly, but Tony’s hackles rose all the same.  Of course Rhodey would notice the limp and the black eye, even if they were on their way to healing.  “Nobody you’d know.”

Rhodey’s concern wasn’t at all assuaged by that.  “Damn it, Tony, what are you doing?”

Tony grabbed his tools and went back to Iron Man.  A press of his thumb to a particular section of the spine loosened the plating.  “What I have to,” he said, focusing on the exposed circuitry.  He could feel Rhodey staring at him, steeped in disapproval.  “Look, if the Skulls were working with someone, there have to be bad guys somewhere who knew about it.  Keeping Captain America prisoner takes money and effort and smarts.  So I’ve been working them over.”

Rhodey saw through that one, too.  “Who?  Informants?”

“Yes.”

“Terrorists?  Mafia?”

“Kinda.  Sorta.  Maybe.”

“You’re paying them for information.”

“If they’ll bite, yes.  And some of them bite.  Some of them just kick the shit out of me for asking.”

“Fucking hell, Tony.”  Rhodey’s eyes flashed.  “Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that is?  You’re not exactly an unknown face among the bad guy scum of the world!”

Tony winced.  “Which is why most of them scam me or throw me out on my ass or send their goons in to rough me up.  But it’s worth the chance.”

“The chance!  The chance of what?  Steve’s–”

“Don’t say it,” Tony snarled, eyes flashing and blood boiling.  “Don’t you fucking say it!”

Hurt flashed across Rhodey’s features, but he didn’t stop.  “You’ve locked yourself away in here, and there’s no one to talk any sense into you.  You just sit and reinforce your own perceptions.”

Tony scoffed.  “Perceptions?  Of what?”

“I was going to say obsessions.  I was trying to be nice, but maybe I shouldn’t be if you’re going to be completely irrational.  You’re drowning in this.  You can’t see how deep in you are!”

Tony yanked the circuit boards that controlled the information uplink out of Iron Man’s helmet.  “You think so?  You think I don’t realize how fucking insane it is that I’m bribing the world’s enemies just because they _might_ know something?  You think I’m so far gone that I can’t see how isolated I’ve become?  You think I didn’t notice that I spent Christmas alone, trying not to think about Steve?  You think I don’t know that I’ve spent the last five months chasing ghosts with nothing to show for it?”  Rhodey winced as Tony jammed the new components in.  His vision was blurring, but he managed.  He always did.  “Let me let you in on a little secret.  I’ve noticed, Rhodes.  I’ve noticed.  But I can’t fucking stop.”

“Tony–”

“You want to add some more wonders to your list of bat-shit crazy stuff I’ve done recently?  Besides searching the world over and paying conmen and monsters to tell me lies and letting them beat the shit out of me.  That’s not even the worst of it.”  His fingers fumbled to seat the circuit boards and get them hooked up.  Normally he’d be a lot more careful, but his patience was hanging by a thread.  “How about the fact that I’ve watched my husband die so many times that I see it in my sleep.  How about that I’ve spent so many hours studying that distortion that I can tell you exactly what it looks like, where it was, how long it lasted, but not what it was or who made it.  How about that I actually went to a psychic the other night.”  Rhodey shook his head, and Tony nodded emphatically in response.  “Oh, yes.  The great Tony Stark, firm believer in all things reasonable, measurable, and quantifiable, went across the world to Hong Kong to the best, most accurate psychic in existence.  Verified by research, of course.  Yep, last week I headed there.  I figured she’d need something of Steve’s, you know, to help her hone in her ESP to find him, so I brought this.”  He fished in his shirt and pulled out the chain with Steve’s dog tags and ring.  He never took it off anymore.  Never.  “She took it, held it.  Studied it.  Closed her eyes and meditated and the whole nine yards.  Then she told me Steve was trapped somewhere cold.  Closed in.  He was sleeping.  Just what the fuck.  Apparently she was explaining the past, not the future.”  He squeezed the tags and ring in his hand until it hurt.  “Paid her a small fortune to have her tell me how he died the first time.”

Rhodey stepped closer, like he wanted to touch him but was afraid.  Tony narrowed his eyes and stared at his sneakers until they blurred.  “If she wanted to bullshit me more accurately, she could have at least mentioned the ice and the Red Skull,” he groused.  “Or maybe she was just confused.  I gotta admit: it’s not often someone dies twice to save humanity.  Or maybe I wasn’t specific enough.”

“Tony, please…”

“Anyway, that was more money and time well-spent.”  He slammed shut Iron Man’s helmet.  _My life, wasted._ He sighed, leaning his tired, aching body into the armor a moment.  The Tower was so damn quiet.  There’d once been life there, but he’d trained himself not to notice its absence.  Ignoring that it was gone, just like he was ignoring the fact that Steve was gone.  He hadn’t seen or spoken to the team in months, not since Clint left.  And Clint hadn’t been back.  Tony was pretty sure JARVIS had told him that Bruce had headed off, knowing him to some place remote where the troubles of the world couldn’t find him.  Thor wasn’t back.  Natasha was around sometimes.  Not that she’d come back to the Tower, but he’d talked with her once or twice, usually when he wanted access to something SHIELD had.  At Christmas, he’d played old videos of holidays past just to have some company.  Let the audio fill the Tower just to pretend everyone was still there, gathered around the tree and exchanging gifts and laughing and sharing cups of cocoa.  He’d listened, smiled, watched, tried to remember how good it felt a year ago when they’d last gathered.  Then he’d curled himself up in that Stark Industries sweatshirt of Steve’s and let himself cry for the first time in forever, moaning the same self-deprecating shit over and over again.  _“Look what I did, babe.  I failed everyone.  The Avengers are dead, and I was the one who killed them.”_

He was going crazy.  That was no secret at all.

An alarm beeped.  The holopad came to life again with the days’ face trace results.  Tony pushed himself off the armor to go check.  There wasn’t much, just a few weak, partial matches.  It didn’t matter how inaccurate they were.  He was tired and hurt, but that didn’t matter, either.  It was time to go out there and search.

“The wedding’s next week.”  Rhodey’s sudden announcement shattered the uncomfortable silence between them.  “Pepper’s been trying to reach you.”

He was vaguely aware of that, both that the wedding was coming and that she’d been calling.  “Spose that’s why she sent you?”

“She didn’t send me.  I was…  Well, worried doesn’t quite cover it anymore.”  Rhodey shook his head.  “Stop doing this.  For the love of God, _stop._   Steve wouldn’t want it.”

He knew that, too.  Underneath the constant swirl of questions – _how did they take him who took him where are they keeping him where is he_ – he knew it.  Months of searching with the world’s most powerful technology aiding him had yielded _nothing._   It was a growing presence in the back of his mind.  The truth.  _Steve’s dead._   If that was the case, if Steve really had died in that hell, then Rhodey and Clint and Pepper and _everyone_ who’d told him that was absolutely right.  Steve wouldn’t want this.  Steve wouldn’t want him to run himself into the ground and endanger himself and let this misery consume him.  Steve wouldn’t like this hollowed out shell he’d become.  And Steve wouldn’t want him to suffer.  Ergo by doing it, he was dishonoring Steve as much as he would have if he’d just let himself fall back into the bottom of a bottle.

But what he said before was absolutely true.  He couldn’t stop.  He was clinging to the last shred of hope.  Addiction and obsession went hand in hand.  So he went to the holopad and quickly picked through the search results.  “J?”

“Uploading the information to Iron Man,” JARVIS glumly responded, “and calculating a flight path.”

Rhodey sighed, shaking his head incredulously.  “You’re going out there now?”

“Every night,” Tony replied.  Half-heartedly he downed the rest of the energy drink he’d been nursing before.  Then he grabbed his wallet, packed with cash.  Tonight’s tools to get information.

“Christ,” Rhodey moaned when he saw.  “Alright.  That’s it.  Got another suit? That’s the Mark VIII, right?  Where’s the Mark VII?”

Tony looked up at his friend.  “What?”

Rhodey’s gaze was even and full of certainty.  “War Machine is down in Charleston, so I need to borrow one.”  That still didn’t make any sense.  “Look, if you’re so determined to do this, I am coming with you.  I can’t let you wander into this shit by yourself.”  Rhodey said that slowly and annunciated every syllable.  “And I am staying with you until the wedding.  I took leave, and I was going to try to drag you away for a vacation or something until I got here and saw how bad stuff really is.  So instead I’ll just keep an eye on you so that you don’t get yourself hurt or worse.”

Tony flushed and looked away.  _Jesus._ He was angry, ashamed, and horrified all at the same time.  He’d pushed everyone away.  He didn’t deserve anyone caring now.  “I don’t need–”

“Yes, you do.  _You do._ ”  Rhodey sighed.  He gave a little smile when Tony turned back to him.  Despite everything that had happened, he felt just a bit warmer for that.  For someone being there.   Rhodey’s smile turned into a teasing grin, not entirely light-hearted but good enough.  “Because crazy-ass, paler than pale hermit is not a good look on you.”

 _Thank you._ “I prefer recluse.”

“Whatever.  Set me up.”

* * *

_“Good thing you don’t have to do any of the work.”_

_“God, Steve…”  It was too much but sweetly not enough.  Steve’s grip on his hips was implacable, unbreakable, and he knew everything that drove Tony wild.  He was relentless about it, too, kissing and stroking and teasing for forever, until Tony was gasping and shuddering against the pillows, until he was staring hazily into the shadows and completely melting into pleasure.  Steve brought him right to the edge, held him there, and then pulled him back repeatedly.  It was delicious torture, and with Steve under the covers as he was, Tony couldn’t even see him, much less stop him.  Not that he wanted to stop him.  He was shivering with the effort of holding back, though.  “Steve, holy hell, babe…  I can’t – I can’t–”_

_Steve hummed around him, and Tony practically lost it.  He was a breath away from cresting that hill and letting go completely.  But Steve released him with a lasting, tormenting kiss, digging his thumbs into Tony’s hips to keep him pinned but otherwise not touching him.  All that wet, wonderful heat vanished, and Tony could have died from need.  “Fuck, fuck, you’re such a godawful tease!”_

_Steve pushed the duvet up, lips curled in a devious smirk.  “Learned from the best.”  He shook his head a little in mock indignation.  He lightly smacked the flat of Tony’s stomach just above the V of his hips but below his belly button.  “And watch your language.”_

_“Get up here,” Tony breathlessly snapped, scrabbling to grab at him and yank him closer to kiss him as hard as he could.  There wasn’t anything tame about it, Tony pushing open Steve’s mouth with his tongue and delving inside.  He twined his hands in Steve’s hair, refusing to let him so much as move as he claimed and claimed.  Steve groaned, submitting, hands pushing up Tony’s shirt and sliding along his chest.  He only let it go on for a second, though, before leaning up and pulling Tony’s shirt with him to divest him of it.  Then he was reaching for the bedside table while trying to win the battle they were waging with their mouths.  He blindly groped in the drawer for a second, kissing back ferociously, nearly falling off the bed.  Tony laughed._

_“Shut it, Stark,” Steve gasped, sliding off of Tony to hunt for the tube of lubricant.  He grinned triumphantly when he found it, tossing it to the bed beside Tony.  Then, with no flourish, he was stripping off his own shirt.  His pajama pants were soon to follow.  Tony watched with delirious eyes, struck yet again by how lucky he was to have this, to have Steve.  Steve who was naked and so beautiful in the faint light of their bedroom.  So perfect.  It wasn’t as if there was a part of Steve’s body Tony hadn’t memorized, but he watched now with renewed interest and adoration, eyes roving over every hard line and muscular swell and inch of flawless, smooth skin.  So much strength and power.  And beneath all that, the good heart.  The pure soul.  Steve was his, and he wondered every day what he’d done in this life to be so blessed._

_Steve grinned under Tony’s hazy gaze, blushing under the scrutiny despite the sheer number of times they’d done this.  “What?”_

_“Nothing,” Tony mumbled, brain mostly offline thanks to pleasure and lust and complete and utter happiness.  “You.  You’re beautiful.”_

_Steve never liked it when Tony called him that.  He always felt uncomfortable with the attention.  This time he just smiled, eyes deep and dark with love, and straddled Tony’s hips anew.  Tony grabbed at his thighs, hands trailing to his hips and squeezing tight when Steve leaned down to kiss him again.  This was softer, no less passionate but not as demanding.  Comfortable and reverent.  Tony couldn’t stop himself from rolling his hips up into Steve, and Steve gasped, pulling away again and Tony let him go.  He was back almost instantly, though, lips sucking and kissing along Tony’s jaw before heading down his throat, pausing a moment to worry the spot over Tony’s pulse point.  Eyes closing again, Tony’s fingers found their way into Steve’s hair, tightening involuntarily as Steve nibbled at his collarbones.  His hand snaked between them, grabbing Tony and torturing again, and Tony cried out at that and the sweetly sharp bite of teeth.  Steve took his time, purposeful with his hand, tracing lower with his mouth and ghosting around the arc reactor.  The light of it fell over his face, illuminating the length of his lashes as he closed his eyes, the angle of his nose, the wet sheen of his plush lips.  Tony stared.  He couldn’t help it.  Beautiful._

_He reached for Steve, trying to get a hand on him as well, but Steve caught him and stopped it.  “No.  No, I want this to be about you.  Just let me.”_

_Feverish, Tony shook his head.  “Steve, it’s alright.”_

_Steve smirked, licking his way across Tony’s pec and reaching for the tube.  “Nope.  You’re old and in need of care.”_

_“You’re an asshole,” Tony said with a chuckle that turned into a gasp as Steve suckled and then nipped.  “Fine.  Not gonna turn this down.”_

_“You shouldn’t.”_

_“Pamper me, youngling.”_

_Steve leaned up, coating his own fingers liberally in lube.  He proceeded to get himself ready, and Tony watched the whole thing.  It was unbelievable, incredible, erotic almost beyond what Tony could handle.  He had to bite his lip to keep himself from swearing and force himself to breathe.  Steve was an image, back arched, trembling with desire, miles of skin glowing faintly with a light sheen of sweat.  He was rocking back and forth above him, spreading himself wider, breathing in quick pants with his mouth open and his lips red and inviting.  Tony could hardly stand it, digging blunt nails into the meat of Steve’s thighs, giving up on trying to keep himself still and rocking into Steve’s motions.  “Always heard that fellas can get pervy in their later years,” Steve joked, looking down on Tony through half-lidded eyes and knowing exactly how much Tony wanted to touch him, wanted to be inside him._

_“Only for you,” Tony gasped, laughing again.  Heat pooled deep in his core, so tight and hungry he didn’t know if he could last.  “God, baby, please…”_

_“Patience is a virtue.”_

_“Never said by anyone with you doing this on top of them ever.”_

_“Well, that’d be only you.”_

_That fact alone was enough to make Tony see stars.  “Then just trust me on that.  And hurry.”_

_“Hurryin’.”_

_“Good.  Wouldn’t want to – Christ, Steve – die while I wait.”_

_“Don’t want that either.”  Steve rushed the rest of it.  Tony didn’t want to hurt him – never wanted to – but he knew Steve could take it.  And he didn’t have much choice anyway because Steve grasped him, slathered him in lube in a few practiced strokes, and took him inside without any hesitation.  Tony cried out, struggling to stay still, fighting to hang on as Steve stole a second to settle into it.  Then he started to move.  They both did, Steve rolling down and Tony thrusting up.  Steve whimpered and whined and threw his head back, arching beautifully to grab Tony’s thighs behind him.  Tony took Steve’s hips, guiding him, dissolving into ecstasy.  He felt like he was burning, inside and out.  He wasn’t the only one.  Steve gasped.  “Tony…”_

_“C’mere,” Tony moaned, leaning up as much as he could and reaching for him.  “C’mere.  Steve, please…”_

_Steve did.  He took Tony’s hands from his hips and leaned down, weaving their fingers together in the duvet, bracketing him with his arms and claiming Tony’s mouth in a deep kiss.  Tony moaned, trying to lift himself into it but he was pinned under Steve’s strength, under his body.  He was squirming to move his hips but even in that he was limited now.  Steve was in control.  And Steve was making love to him.  To him and only him, like this, forever.  “I’m not the beautiful one,” he whispered into Tony’s lips.  “That’s you.  I want you.  I need you.  I don’t care what happens.  That’ll never change.  You’re mine no matter what, right?”_

_“Steve…”_

_Steve kissed him again, harder, and ground himself down with a desperate whine.  Tony finally managed to plant his feet onto the bed and pushed up, tipping Steve more forward and going even deeper inside him.  There didn’t seem to be any part of them that wasn’t touching.  Hands together, hips rocking against one another, lips joined.  Breaths as one.  Pleasure coiled, tightening in Tony’s belly, hot and sweet and perfect.  He couldn’t hold on, not any longer.  Steve’s eyes were glazed with adoration, with gratitude and bliss, and he smiled like the sun.  “I love you, Tony.”_

Tony’s eyes snapped open.  He gave a wrangled cry – _this isn’t home and I’m alone and I’m dreaming and Steve’s gone!_ – and rolled onto his belly.  He just couldn’t stop.  He had a hand around himself, stroking painfully hard, and he thrust into the mattress once.  That was all it took, and he climaxed with another wail, this one muffled into the pillows.  “Fuck,” he sobbed after catching his breath.  “No, no, no!”

Not like this.

Shaking with the aftershocks, he curled into himself, crying, choking, clenching his eyes shut and hating himself.  Then he lay in the early morning shadows, too devastated even to care that he was wet and getting cold and uncomfortable.  He couldn’t care about anything.

Not ever again.

* * *

Eventually he had to care, though.  He woke up later, much later, at JARVIS’ gentle prodding.  “Sir, you need to get dressed.  The wedding is in two hours.”  The voice was coming from his cellphone on the bedside table, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t ignore it.  “Sir, please.” 

Tony groaned.  He felt mostly dead as he lifted his head from the pillows.  Getting his eyes open was tough; they were achy from crying so hard, glued shut with gunk and dried tears.  His mouth tasted revolting, and everything hurt.  For a moment, the dream was too real, and he could still imagine Steve’s mouth on his, Steve’s hands on him, Steve’s weight over him and Steve’s heat all around him.  But Steve wasn’t there.  This wasn’t even their bedroom.  This was his hotel room at the Ocean Club in the Bahamas, and he was alone.

“Sir?”

“God,” Tony whimpered.  He pushed himself up on the king-sized bed.  The sheets were tangled up around him, so it took some doing to get free.  Plus, his limbs were pretty numb and uncoordinated, so flailing was all he could manage for a moment.  “What time is it?”

The ocean was rolling slowly onto the pearly shore just outside the huge windows of his beach front room.  The day was perfect, the sky brilliantly blue and the air warm and sweet.  A gentle breeze ruffled the palm trees and flowers.  It was beautiful, ideal for the wedding.

And he felt like utter shit.

“A little after eleven, sir.”  Pepper’s wedding was at one o’clock, so JARVIS was right.  He had two hours to make himself presentable.  “I suggest you get dressed.”

That seemed like too much, and grief and depression sucked him down before he was even moving.  He sat on the bed, burying his face into his hands and sagging under the weight of it all.  Last night had been difficult.  Six months ago it wouldn’t have been.  Six months ago it would have been a great time among friends and family.  But acting okay at the dinner Pepper had thrown to welcome the wedding guests had been nigh impossible.  It didn’t help that Rhodey was all over him, constantly watching him like a goddamn babysitter.  That was how things had been the last week since his friend had shown up at the Tower.  He’d taken care of Tony, forced him to eat, to sleep, to take a break from his work.  He’d even dragged him to the shower or in front of the TV once or twice for a movie through which Tony had made himself sit.  He’d been a second shadow.  While it had been nice to have some company (even though he’d been aware of how isolated he’d become, someone else being there had made him truly _feel_ it, and it hadn’t felt good at all), it had hampered his capacity to search for Steve.  Rhodey had summoned War Machine on the second night, and together they’d gone out on Tony’s nightly quest, scanning the world side by side.  Having Rhodey there had inhibited Tony’s ability to make contact with the criminals and such, so they’d spent most their time flying or leaving the armor some place safe and walking the streets.  Tokyo.  New Delhi.  Mexico City.  Houston.  Rio.  It would have been more efficient to search separately, but Rhodey wasn’t there because he believed Steve was alive, and they’d both known it.

Yesterday morning he’d dragged Tony from New York for something other than searching for the first time in months.  Dragged him away from the cold, gray monotony and bundled him on the Stark Industries jet at LaGuardia for to travel down to the Bahamas.  For the whole flight, he’d looked nothing but relieved to have succeeded in getting Tony out of the Tower.  And Pepper looked nothing but thrilled when she and Happy had met him at the airfield, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek and going on about how wonderful it was to see him.  He’d tried to smile for her sake.  This was her wedding, and she deserved to have at least the illusion of him happy.

Maintaining that illusion through the dinner had been all but impossible.  The rest of the team hadn’t come, which made things a little bit easier because he wasn’t sure how he’d face them.  Facing Pepper and Happy and their excited guests had been difficult enough.  Of course he was worried the other Avengers weren’t there, but he’d been too chicken shit to ask Pepper about it.  JARVIS had filled him in late last night, that Natasha and Clint were both on assignment for SHIELD, that Bruce was out of contact somewhere and probably back to running from his condition like he could somehow escape it, that Thor had been back to earth once or twice but his whereabouts were currently unknown.  Tony had felt rotten realizing all over again that it was his fault everyone was broken and drifting apart.  Pepper didn’t seem upset, but Tony was because they’d looked to him for a leader and he hadn’t been strong enough to become one.  He’d buried himself in denial instead.

It was all water under the bridge at this point.

“Sir, is there anything I can do to help you?”  JARVIS’ voice was soft and filled with grief where it came from Tony’s phone, as if the AI was desperate to make this better somehow.  There was no making it better.

Tony rubbed his eyes a bit and blinked more to clear them.  “No,” he answered.  He sounded like he’d swallowed gravel.  “No, I’m alright.”

“Your tuxedo is in the closet,” JARVIS supplied anyway, and the cellphone screen projected information into the air for him, showing him the day’s weather and agenda.  “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you a late breakfast.  I recommend eating it.”

Another babysitter, although eating something wasn’t a bad idea.  He hadn’t eaten much at dinner last night.  He hadn’t eaten much recently, it seemed.  He knew he’d lost some weight.  Of course there was the matter of getting his stomach to settle enough so that he didn’t throw it all back up.  That made him think of their wedding – his and Steve’s – and how sick with anxiety he had been before then.  The reasons had been entirely different, of course.  Nerves and excitement and too much joy to contain.  He didn’t want to dwell on it now, not that or the dream he’d had.  It wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about Steve, about them making love, but this was the only time it had been so vivid, so perfect, more a memory than anything else.  He hadn’t gotten off like that before.  Not in months.  Not since the last night they’d had sex before Steve left.  He’d always felt sick and ashamed just thinking about it, and actually having it happen…  He thought he might die, the pain in his chest was so bad.  It seemed like a betrayal of Steve, and, fuck, it felt so wrong but so good at the same time.

“Sir, please.”

“I’m going,” Tony snapped, and suddenly he was.  He drove all of that away, pushed himself up, and went to the lavish bathroom.  He was here for a wedding, for Pepper’s wedding, and he needed to pull himself together like yesterday.  He’d let everyone down before.  He had to do better here.

A shower helped.  He let himself linger a bit in the hot spray, let it ease his aching muscles and wash away the sweat from the night.  Then he got out, dried off, and found himself staring at his reflection.  He didn’t look like the man he had been.  Sure, the features were all the same, brown eyes and brown hair and the shape of his nose and jaw and his goatee…  But he wasn’t the same.  His eyes were hollowed out, without vigor, ringed in exhaustion.  His once sun-kissed skin was pale and waxy.  His face was thinner, not quite gaunt but well on its way there.  He looked terrible.  The consequences of months of hardly sleeping, hardly eating, _hardly living,_ were right there in front of him, and he was so damn numb he couldn’t really process it.

So he didn’t.  Instead he went through the motions.  Brushed his teeth and his hair.  Trimmed his goatee and shaved around it.  Tried to ignore the ghost of Steve, him standing and doing the same at the other sink to the right, only a towel around his waist as he hummed and shaved and darted sneaky glances in the mirror.  “Stop it,” Tony hissed to himself.  He nearly cut his throat with his razor he’d been so caught up in the memory or hallucination or daydream (he didn’t know which – he was starting to get more and more lost in his own head).  Wincing at the little nick, he finished up and went back out into the bedroom of his suite.

Breakfast was indeed waiting.  It was a large one.  Eggs benedict, bacon, buttermilk pancakes, fresh fruit, orange juice, and coffee.  Grimacing, he went to dress in a pair of boxers and an undershirt before sitting at the table with the meal.  He took his phone, too, and went over the morning’s search results.  The latest round of nothing.  He did it automatically, apathetic and uncaring because it wasn’t different from any of the other hundreds of times he’d sat and let a meal go cold while he checked.  After that, he forced himself to eat.  He thought about what he would say that afternoon.  Pepper had asked him last week to give a toast.  He was pretty sure she’d only done that to get him more involved in the event, in socializing in general.  Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have hesitated, and he would have had no trouble coming up with a little speech.  Now his mind was prodigiously blank, as it always was concerning anything other than Steve’s disappearance.

Before he even noticed, he was through with the eggs and most of the pancakes.  He felt better for having something in his stomach.  It took him a bit longer to get himself moving again, but he went to the closet and found his tuxedo.  He got dressed.  Felt okay about it.  Appraised himself in the mirror after.  He looked decent, not like a widower driving himself crazy with grief and denial.  He could handle this.

There was a knock at the door of his suite, and he headed out through the living room to answer it.  He opened it up and wrinkled his forehead in surprise.  “Isn’t this bad luck?”

Pepper smiled.  “Only for Happy.  I can see anyone else that I want whenever I want.”

Tony couldn’t help a smile of his own as he beheld her.  His voice didn’t come for a second, and then he exhaled and relaxed.  “You look…  Pepper, you’re beautiful.  Perfect.”

She blushed.  “Thanks, Tony.”  She was really lovely.  Her dress was simple, white, slender, and flowing.  Very appropriate for a beach wedding.  Her hair was up in a loose roll, a coral-colored flower adorning it.  Her skin glowed bronze, her eyes strikingly blue.  She looked light, airy.  Happy.  And worried.  He could tell she was relieved that he was cleaned up and dressed.  That he was there and mostly functioning.  Her grin faltered a little.  “I just wanted to stop by and see you.  We really didn’t get a chance to talk last night.”  _Or much at all over the last six months._   That was the unspoken part.  All the times Tony had ducked her calls, ignored her concerns, brushed aside her efforts to see him.  Told JARVIS to turn her away.  He wasn’t sure he deserved another chance.

He stepped back so she could come in.  “You want to…”

She winced sadly.  “No time, unfortunately.  Wedding’s in an hour.”  Her smile got stronger again.  “Don’t think I should be late to it.”

“Probably not.”

The conversation died awkwardly.  He could tell she wanted to say something, that she was trying to find a way to do it.  Even though they hadn’t seen each other in a couple months, he still knew her so well.  Eventually she gave up on trying to speak and simply stepped closer to cup his face.  Tony fought the urge to pull away, this battle inside him raging, on side dying for comfort and the other rebelling against what accepting comfort _meant._ He succumbed and closed his eyes against the familiar burn, leaning into her soft embrace.  She rubbed his back gently, and he let himself melt just a bit.  That comfort felt so damn good.  It was good to be touched, to be held.  “We love you,” she whispered into his hair.  “We all do.  You know that, don’t you?”

He knew.  That he never doubted, not through all of this.  So he nodded.

She pulled away.  Her eyes glimmered with tears, but she was still smiling.  “I’m just so glad you’re here.  I know it wasn’t easy to come.”

It hadn’t been.  It wasn’t easy.  _Nothing_ was easy.

“But it will get better, Tony.  I know it will.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.  He wasn’t so sure.  “I’m trying, Pep,” he gasped.  She knew it wasn’t easy, but she had _no idea_ just how hard it was being away from the Tower, away from everything Steve symbolized.  This, too, felt like betrayal, enjoying a moment, _moving on_ , and leaving Steve behind.  The data and the files and the search algorithms, Steve’s shield and Tony’s memories and their _home_ …  He had no right to be away from it.  “I’m trying so hard.”

“I know you are,” Pepper said.  She swept her thumbs over his cheekbones.  “That’s why I wanted to thank you for coming.  That’s what I came here to say.  Thank you, Tony.”  Another smile, this one brighter and lighter.  “ _Thank you._   It means the world to me.  With you here, I know I can get married.  I’m, um…”  She blushed again.  “Kinda nervous, actually.”

He found it within himself to tease her, at least a little.  “I didn’t think you knew how to be.”

“I do,” she replied with a nod and a sly smile.  “I am capable of it.”

“If it makes you feel any better, so was I.”  He thought of the butterflies in his stomach again.  A few short years ago, she’d come to him just like this on the morning of his wedding to offer up a smile and a hug and to tell him how happy she was for him.  The least he can do was return the favor, so he went on.  “It means this is what’s meant to be.  It…  It means you’re doing the right thing.”  He nodded again, satisfied with that.  “If it wasn’t the most important thing you’ve ever done, then you wouldn’t be scared.”

She held his gaze, heartened by that.  It made Tony feel good, at least, for the minor amount of comfort _he_ could provide.  Then she kissed his forehead and his lips chastely.  “Maybe after Happy and I are back, you might think about coming and staying with us for a while?  No reason you need to be out in New York alone.”

It was her wedding day.  He couldn’t say no.  “Maybe.  I’ll think about it.”

Pleased with how genuine he sounded, she let him go and turned back to the door.  “See you in an hour?”

“Definitely,” he responded with a forced smile.

She left.  Tony closed the door.  Feeling tired and useless, he sighed heavily in the silence and headed over to the couch.  Nothing to do but wait, he supposed.  He could go down to the ceremony site, but that would mean conversing with other people, and he didn’t think he had it in him for that.  So he settled down on the nice sofa, trying not to wrinkle his tux as he did, and pulled out his phone.  He thumbed through the last couple weeks’ worth of email.  Stuff from Stark Industries.  From SHIELD.  He barely bothered with it anymore, and he still didn’t have much interest or energy even though he wanted the distraction.  Setting the phone on the cushion beside him, he let go of a long breath, closed his eyes, and listened to the ocean outside the open windows.

For a blissful while, he managed not to think about anything.  That was a rarity and so nice, the most peace he’d had in what felt like forever.  At least since Steve had vanished.  He basked in it, in the quiet, the distance.  The sound of the waves rolling onto the beach.  The breeze rustling the palm trees.  His own heartbeat.  Minutes slipped away, and for once, he just let them go.

His phone vibrated.  He cracked open an eye and glanced at it.  It was a text from Rhodey.  _“You ready?”_

Sighing, he picked up the device and thumbed back a response.  _“Yes.”_

_“Be there in fifteen.”_

He dropped his phone to the couch and tipped his head back into the cushions.  Suddenly exhausted, he tried not to think about the afternoon and evening ahead.  About having to mingle and make small-talk and act like he was alright again.  He’d barely managed it last night.  _You have to do this.  So you do it and then you can go home._

His phone buzzed again.  A little irritated at Rhodey for being such a goddamn mother hen, he snatched it from the couch and swiped the screen to unlock it.

It wasn’t another notification from Rhodey.  It was one from the face trace.  As if jolted by a livewire, Tony sat up.  All traces of his earlier fatigue were gone as he looked over the data.  “Oh, my God,” he whispered, not believing what he was seeing.

The algorithm had located an eighty percent match with Steve.  _Eighty percent._   That was the highest it had ever produced.  Tony’s heart was pounding and he could barely breathe as he looked over the information.  The sighting was in the northwestern section of Manila, in a neighborhood that looked rough.  It was in the Tondo district, which was heavily populated and riddled with crime and poverty.  Tony winced thinking about that, but his doubt and dismay quickly abated when he opened the image of the man who matched Steve’s likeness.

Christ, if it wasn’t him, it could be his twin.  The quality of the image was poor, maybe a security camera on the street, but it was beyond denial.  This man had a similar build and height.  He had a baseball cap and a jacket on.  A beard covered his face, but blond hair stuck out from under the cap, and blue eyes peered from beneath the lowered brim, and the shape of his lips…  Tony stared in unabashed shock.  The computer noted the beard and poor image quality made confidence in the match less than perfect.  But – damn – this was something.  This was _something._

And he couldn’t let it go.

He didn’t think.  Couldn’t.  Stood and stripped his tuxedo jacket and tie off.  “JARVIS,” he said, grasping his phone tightly, “I need Iron Man.”

JARVIS was aghast.  “Sir!  The ceremony is in twenty-three–”

“Don’t argue with me again, goddamn it!  Don’t fucking do it!  Just do what I say!  _Now!”_

“You cannot leave right now!  You cannot!  It is–”

 _Fuck this._   Tony ran into his bedroom and to the closet where the suitcase that held the armor was.  He jabbed his thumb into the handle of the case and it immediately recognized him and dissembled.  A breath later, the armor was folding itself around him.  The second the faceplate lowered, the information on the facial match filled the HUD.  A flight path appeared.  Hope was too much, too painful, but he couldn’t stop the rush of it.  And he didn’t even think twice about ripping open the doors to the beach, running out onto it, and rocketing upward.  Iron Man was a streak of red and gold, shooting across the sky.  Tony completely ignored the HUD showing him that the guests gathered for the wedding were gasping and pointing as he flew out of sight.


	7. Chapter 7

It took all of a few seconds for Tony to convince himself whole-heartedly that this was Steve.

And it took JARVIS about that long to get over his initial reluctance and lay it on thick.  “This is highly inappropriate.  You cannot abandon Miss Potts on her wedding day!  She will be devastated!”

Tony gritted his teeth, pouring more energy into the thrusters.  He was flying so fast, faster than he ever had, and Iron Man was practically vibrating around him.  “She probably won’t notice,” he growled back.  “And there’s no time!  You know as well as I do that we could lose him!”

“It is extremely unlikely that man is him,” JARVIS said sharply.  “It is an eighty percent match, but the algorithm calculated only a thirty percent level of confidence!  The odds of Captain Rogers being in Manila are extremely low, sir.  You must realize that!”

Tony didn’t care.  The image the search algorithm had discovered less than ten minutes ago in Tondo was tucked into the corner of the HUD, and Steve’s SHIELD personnel picture was right next to it.  He kept glancing at the two and comparing them by eye, and they had to be the same person.  _They had to be._   Already his brain was running with that, trying to conjure up theories and explanations.  The man in the footage looked poor, dirty, rundown.  Maybe Steve had gotten off the rig somehow or escaped his captors and didn’t remember who he was.  Maybe the serum failed somehow, or they did something to it, to him, to make him forget.  That was why he hadn’t called, hadn’t tried to come home in all this time.  That was trite, like some clichéd movie about a lover with amnesia or something like that, but those things really did happen.  _Anything_ was possible.  Maybe he was hurt and _couldn’t_ come home.  Or maybe he wasn’t lost.  Maybe he was trying to hide, trying to lay low on the streets so whoever had kidnapped him wouldn’t come after him again or come after Tony or anyone else.  Maybe maybe maybe–

“There is another hit on the target,” JARVIS reported grimly, bringing up a second place on a map of Manila.  An image from a cellphone came with it, this one even poorer quality than the last.  The man was heading toward a seedier area down a dark street.  It was well after midnight there.  “Sir, this is ill-advised.  At least allow me to contact Agent Romanoff or Agent Barton.  You are not thinking straight.”

 _Tony didn’t fucking care._   Iron Man streaked across the globe, barreling through the sky as it darkened from the afternoon to night.  It would take another fifteen minutes or so at his current speed to reach the Philippines, and every second he spent in transit felt paramount.  He was completely relying on good fortune at this point, that Steve would be caught on camera again so he could track his movements.  If he didn’t, Tony could lose him, so it was vital he got there before Steve left the area.  “Call them if you want.”

JARVIS wisely went silent after that, and Tony flew even faster, ignoring warnings and whines from his suit.  His nerves were tingling with anticipation, his gut clenched in a nauseating mixture of anxiety and fear and excitement, his brain lost up in hope.  The wait was excruciating because he knew this was it, the culmination of months of nightmares and exhaustion and grief.  The end of it all.  The moment where he would find Steve.  He wanted it so badly that he was shaking, tears bleeding from his eyes already, senses aching with need for the things he used to know.  The smell of Steve’s hair and the feel of Steve’s skin and the taste of Steve’s kiss and the sight of Steve’s bright eyes.  The sound of Steve’s voice.  He could almost _hear_ it.  _“Help me, Tony.  I need you.”_

Iron Man swooped down from the clouds with a sonic boom, careening toward Manila.  It was a dazzling array of twinkling lights amidst a black ocean.  Steve was there, waiting for him to find him, and he was going to.  _I’m coming, baby.  I’m coming to bring you home._

He jetted right toward the location where Steve had been, not caring at all who saw him.  There was no time to hide what he was doing.  The streets weren’t very busy, which was a good thing considering he landed in the center of one.  Dilapidated buildings lined the road, stores and restaurants mostly with tin roofs and sides that seemed bent.  A strong breeze looked like it would topple them all.  Powerlines ran thick like webs across the streets, layered on top of one another without rhyme or reason.  There was also a great deal of garbage about.  It was a slum, plain and simple, and a dark and dangerous one at that.  A couple of nicer establishments stuck out like a sore thumb, and Tony recognized one of the buildings – a tall gray one with pillars beneath it – from the cellphone image that had captured Steve.  He’d been walking toward it, so Tony headed that way.

People stared at him in fear and wonder, and why wouldn’t they?  It wasn’t every day an Avenger prowled the streets of their dark, dirty little corner of the world.  Tony said nothing, scanning each face he spotted for Steve.  None of them matched.  None of them was him.  He kept going, the joints of the armor whirring and his boots heavy on the cracked asphalt of the road.  “JARVIS?”

“I see no signs of the target,” the AI answered.  There was no small amount of relief in his voice.  “You perhaps could consider your search concluded.”

 _Not on your life._   Tony went further down the road, walking faster, looking around more frantically.  Steve _had_ to be here somewhere.  Past the building, he found an alleyway that reeked of danger.  The buildings were leaning close to each other, and there was hardly any light.  Tony raised his palm repulsor and headed down the narrow way.  The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled with disquiet.  This screamed _bad idea_ , but he wasn’t about to quit.  Not when he was this close.  Not when Steve was _right here._   “J, give me infrared.”

The HUD switched, and the shadows of the alley vanished.  Further ahead at the other end there were heat signatures.  There was a great deal of them, in fact.  Comforted by that when he probably shouldn’t have been, he picked up his pace even more.  Christ, what was he scared of anyway?  Thugs?  Criminals?  He had a million-dollar weaponized suit of armor to protect him.  There was really no danger here.  Not to him.

But maybe to Steve.  He had to find him.

There was loud conversation ahead.  He followed the heat signatures and found the alley turning and leading to another street, this one even darker and dirtier.  A blob of light on the infrared appeared as he made the turn.  He knew the moment he saw it.  The height, the posture.  Tony’s heart pounded, and a cold sweat broke out over him.  He opened the armor’s faceplate.  “Steve?”

The figure turned.  He was swathed in shadows, face hidden, but Tony saw a hint of blue eyes.  The frantic thunder of his pulse all but stopped.  “Steve…”

The man was running away before Tony even realized it.  Tony jolted in shock.  “Steve?  Steve, wait!  It’s me!  It’s Tony!  _Wait!_ ”  Steve didn’t wait, turning the corner of a building and vanishing into the night.  Tony snapped the faceplate back into place, bringing the infrared scan back up.  Without that, he’d never be able to catch him given how winding and dark the alleys were.  “JARVIS, don’t lose him!”

Immediately Iron Man’s sensors locked onto the heat signature.  This place was a tangle of backstreets and alleys.  Thankfully the structures were so flimsy and poorly made that Tony was generally able to track the signature through them.  He chased as fast as he could, cutting through an apartment complex, scaring the poor people inside half to death as he flew through the filthy hallways and jetted up and out an open escape door.  _God, don’t let him get away.  Don’t run, Steve.  Don’t run!_   “Talk to me!”

“Right below you,” JARVIS said, and Tony killed the suit’s thrusters to drop down.  He landed with a clank in the road below.  Rising to his full height, he looked around frenetically.  “Left.”

Twisting, he spotted Steve again, his body heat a bright red in a field of shadows and dark outlines of structures.  “Steve!  Stop!  Stop!”  His voice was altered by the suit, same as it always was when he wore it, but if Steve didn’t remember him, didn’t _know_ him…  No wonder he was scared and running.  Tony swallowed the throbbing lump that seemed lodged in his throat and raced after him.  He had to catch him, get through to him, get him out of here…  Horror left him reeling, just thinking about what Steve had probably endured these last months, what had been done to him to bring him to such a state, lost and confused and afraid.  “Steve, baby,” he whispered, desperate and shaking with it.  “Please let me help you.”

“He is turning right ahead, sir,” JARVIS announced, zooming in on the map of the tangled streets to show Tony.  “I believe he is heading toward that building.”  The outline of it flashed.

Tony fired his thrusters, flying up and over a bunch of homes that were little more than hovels, and landed right outside the building in question.  There were many people in it, a flood of signatures that was so dense individual people were all but indiscernible.  Tony barely caught sight of Steve yanking open the door and disappearing inside.  “What…”

“Be careful if you insist on following him,” JARVIS advised.  “I suggest you do not.  This place may be a haven for drug users or worse.”  Tony winced.  “And, sir, I will say again: I do not believe you have found Captain Rogers.  Your emotions are clouding your judgment!”

“It’s him,” Tony replied, adamant and frightened beyond the pale that Steve had gone into such a place.  Why?  _Someone’s hurt him.  Twisted him.  I have to get to him._ “If he could just see it’s me–”

“This is madness!”

“I have to save him,” Tony whimpered, quivering with anxiety.  “I have to.”  Tears blurred his eyes again.  His heart was jackhammering so hard that it hurt, and he was moving without another thought, heading toward the building with its mottled exterior and slumping roof and bending walls.  Everything about the place warned _stay away._   He’d never been good at accepting the obvious.

And JARVIS kept at it, in a frenzy to stop him.  “This is foolish and dangerous.  Please do not–”

“Enough.”  He stepped out of the armor, leaving the Mark VIII standing sentry outside.  He wasn’t going to risk Steve getting spooked because he didn’t remember Iron Man.  And he wasn’t going to be a threat to whoever else was in there, not if they were somehow controlling Steve.  He’d pay them off to release him.  Or he’d negotiate.  He’d take Steve’s place if he had to.  Whatever they were doing to Steve, they could do to him instead.

JARVIS was nattering in his earbud.  “Do not leave the armor!  It’s not him!  It is not!  You are not the only one who knew him, sir!  Believe me, _please!_ There is no reason Captain Rogers would be in a place such as this!”

“Shut up,” Tony hissed.  He was nearly at the door.

“This will end poorly, I know it–”

 _“Shut up!”_   He grabbed the handle and yanked it open.  Inside was a hollowed out area, fairly big, with a few nicked, worn tables and chairs and a bar of sorts on the opposite end.  A few lightbulbs provided meager illumination.  Blotches of moldy discoloration painted the walls.  It absolutely stank inside, smoke and refuse and sex.  A lot of people were huddled around the tables, and more were at the bar.  They immediately turned to stare at him, at a well-dressed, well-groomed man (he was wearing a tuxedo, for fuck’s sake) who was obviously wealthy wandering into an establishment such as this.  Tony tried to calm his racing heart, tried to be slow and nonchalant as he ventured deeper inside.

Despite how dark it was, it wasn’t all that hard to find Steve.  He was bigger than most everyone else, and the cap with the dirty blond hair sticking out was unmistakable.  He was sitting at the bar, back to the door.  Tony had the sense enough not to want to create a massive scene, so he quietly and calmly approached him.  The figure hunched over the counter didn’t move, didn’t seem to sense him coming at all.  Tony’s entire body was alive with hope, with anticipation, with fear, too, of what he was about to find.  His nerves tingled, and his heart hadn’t stopped pounding.  This was it.  Steve was right there.  He could see him.  Reach out and touch him.  Save him.  _Bring him home._ “Steve?”  The man didn’t move.  Tony raised a tentative hand to take his shoulder.  “Steve, it’s me.  It’s–”

The second his fingers fell to the dirty coat, the man turned around.

Tony knew then and there that he’d made a terrible mistake.  It wasn’t Steve.  The features were similar, extremely so, but _it wasn’t him._   The face wasn’t quite the right shape.  The nose was bent like it had been broken once or twice and healed poorly.  He had scars on his face, not terribly noticeable, but they were there.  There was the same plush lower lip, the same smile maybe, although now it was caught in a sneer.  And the eyes were all wrong.  Blue, yes, and eerily like Steve, but they lacked Steve’s good soul behind them.  There was no light, no love, no strength or courage or valor.  This man _was not_ Steve Rogers.

And to add insult to injury, he snapped, “Who the hell is Steve?”

Tony let him go as if he’d been burned by him.  He backpedaled, the shock so intense that he was shaking.  _It’s not him.  It’s not him.  It’s not Steve._   His thoughts jolted, jerked, shuddered like an engine that couldn’t get in gear and was grinding.  Everything inside him, all that hope and anticipation and excitement, came crashing down like the sun falling from the sky, and he felt sick.  “Sorry,” he murmured.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean – I thought you were…”  _You’re not him.  Jesus fucking Christ._   He wanted to puke.  “Sorry.”  He turned to get the hell out of there.

The man’s voice stopped him though.  That was all wrong, too.  Not Steve’s voice at all.  “Hey, you’re Tony Stark, right?”  Tony tensed, trying to ignore it and keep going, but the man was standing.  He could practically _feel_ him come to the awful conclusion, like the foul air between them was sinking with it.  “Oh.  _Oh._   Steve.  You thought I was…”

Unfortunately, this guy knew about him, at least that he was married to Steve Rogers and that Steve was dead.  Tony shook his head as the man laughed.  “Oh, this is fucking rich.”  Tony bristled, choking down a mounting sense of horror as he tried to keep walking away.  “Do I look like Captain America?  Fate fucked me over when I was born.  I could have been your boy toy if I’d have met you before.”

 _Boy toy._ Rage unfurled from Tony’s gut all the sudden, blasting away his shame and horror.  He turned around and stared at Steve’s lookalike where he was laughing and leaning against the bar.  “What the fuck did you just say?” he whispered.

The guy was utterly nonplussed at the seething ire in his voice.  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asked, leering a little at Tony.  “Why you tracked me down?  Why you chased me with your big suit of armor?  Bed getting a little too cold at night?  Want a familiar face in it?  A little piece of the past to stick your dick into?”  He grinned, revealing teeth that weren’t nearly as straight or white as Steve’s.  “It’ll cost you.” 

 _Jesus._   Was this guy some sort of prostitute?  Looking more carefully, Tony could see from his eyes that he was loaded, high and aggressive with it.  He didn’t even know what to say to that, both that this asshole thought he’d be interested in paying someone to sleep with him and that he was there _looking_ to have sex with someone who looked like Steve.  Bile burned his throat.  He could barely get out a mangled, “Fuck you.”

“Not usually the way I go,” the man responded, “but if you pay me enough…  Whatever he did, I can do for you.  I can make your fantasies come true.”  He grinned again, a weird mixture of lascivious and confrontational.  “Or your memories.”

Across his mind’s eye came a rush of images from his dream the night before, those things his senses were craving so desperately.  Steve’s hands and Steve’s kiss and the warmth of Steve’s body.  Steve’s smile and Steve’s eyes and his voice – _I love you, Tony_ – and Tony completely lost it.  Before he even realized what was happening, he was balling his right hand into fist and punching the man hard, square in the jaw.  The contact of skin against his knuckles was jarring but not enough to snap him out of the haze of red that had consumed his world.  He hit again, the next blow driving the guy back into the bar, and _again._   The stool he’d been sitting on broke as they tussled.  Tony was relentless, despite the height and weight the guy had on him, driving the man down until he was straddling him, hitting and hitting mercilessly.  Pounding at that cruel parody of Steve’s face like he could destroy it.  Hating that everything had come to _this_ , this lie, this cruel, vulgar trick.  Hating himself and the memories screaming through his head and everything and everyone that had led him here.  He hit and hit until his knuckles were red and he couldn’t breathe.

The bloody mess beneath him moaned, feebly trying to push him off, and Tony fought to stay put.  The murderous rage devoured him, blinded him, and if it hadn’t been for someone yanking him up and off, he wouldn’t have stopped.  He was so lost in that hell that he didn’t even notice the man who’d pulled him up was just as high and just as maniacal, throwing a swing of his own.  It collided with Tony’s cheek, knocking him back into the bar.  His teeth gnashed into his tongue, and hot blood spilled into his mouth.  A boot slammed into his chest once.  Twice.  Battered and breathless, he slumped into the bar behind him.  The poor lighting barely caught the glint of the knife screaming toward him.  Tony cried out, leaning back as far as possible to avoid it, and it still sliced across his belly.  The wound wasn’t serious, but it hurt like hell, and he was dazed and riddled with panic as he struggled away from the crowd of men coming at him.  _Fuck!_ “JARVIS, I need the suit!”

JARVIS was already on it.  Iron Man burst through the door and shot across the dark, awful room, coming apart to enclose his vulnerable body.  Tony shoved his assailants away as it did.  The helmet was the last to snap into place, and the HUD came to blindingly bright life.  Tony jumped upward, firing the thrusters in his boots.  “Get out of there, sir!” JARVIS cried.

He didn’t.  One of the guys leapt upward to grab his leg and haul him down.  It was stupid, crazy, and he fired a repulsor shot at him to dislodge him.  JARVIS had dampened the suit’s weapons, so the blast only stung the thug enough to get him to let go.  Growling in fury, Tony dropped to the floor.  Another repulsor blast cut a swath through the wall.  He watched in dark, twisted satisfaction as the place started to come apart just from that.  The patrons or whatever the hell they were scrambled to get away.  The guy who’d propositioned him was fighting to roll to his side.  He got to his feet, covering his bloody face with his hands, and ran.  Tony gritted his teeth and let the rage come anew.  He wanted to destroy this hell, destroy these people.  Coming here, chasing a ghost.  Letting himself believe.  He was so angry, so miserably, hatefully enraged, and he wanted to watch the world burn like he’d watched Steve burn over and over again _for nothing._

He gave a strangled cry, standing stiff with the repulsors cutting through the walls, through the ceiling, through _everything_ in their path.  Debris came down in huge chunks, striking the armor around him, but Iron Man was far stronger than the poor-quality drywall and wood.  Tony lost himself completely, melting into his pain, and let the building collapse on top of him.

When it was done, he was the only thing standing in the rubble.  The remains of the building were on fire.  With how close the buildings were squeezed together here, that was extremely dangerous.  But he was drowning in his anguish, in far too deep to care.  He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t think or feel.  There was nothing but that hole inside him, that aching, throbbing wound where his _life_ had been ripped apart.  He was falling into it, drowning, dying.

Lights washed over him from above.  The roar of engines was suddenly deafening, louder than the sirens wailing in the distance.  Tony sank down onto his knees, Iron Man clanking into the wreckage.  He moaned piteously, sobbing into the helmet.  He felt terrible, so low, so _wrong._   So much of a failure.  He didn’t even notice when feet landed in the debris beside him, that there was a quinjet hovering above him.  “Tony?  Tony!  What did you do?”  Hands grabbed at him, unafraid despite the damage he’d caused and the weapons he still had at his fingertips.  They were on his shoulders, reaching for his helmet, and it came loose at JARVIS’ command.  The hands pulled it away.

Natasha’s eyes were hard with anger and worry as she stared at him.  “Goddamn it, Stark, what the hell are you doing?  Stark?  Stark!”

“Nat!”  That sounded like Clint.  Lithely he landed in the mess beside her.  “We need to get out of here!  Now!”

“Get up,” Natasha demanded, pulling at Tony.  He didn’t have the energy to stand, didn’t have the awareness to care that he couldn’t.  “Barton!  JARVIS, help us here!”

Iron Man fell away from Tony, limp and useless and clattering into the debris.  Tony sucked in a heaving breath, tasting blood and ash and tears.  He felt free, weightless, _useless,_ floating above hell.  Natasha pulled him up.  Clint was there, too, hooking an arm under him and doing the same.  Vaguely he felt the pain from his wounds.  Vaguely he noticed Iron Man reassemble and guarding them as SHIELD came take him away.  Vaguely.  And vaguely he knew Natasha and Clint were there to protect him, to get him out before anyone saw, to save him from himself.  That was just as well.  He needed to be saved.  It didn’t matter, though.  All of that was distant, hazy, blurry, inconsequential.  He couldn’t focus on it.

He couldn’t focus on much at all, nothing other than the ghost of Steve’s face in his mind and the ruin he had caused all around him.

* * *

Apparently Iron Man leveling most of a block in Manila was something of an international scandal.  All things being equal, it could have been so much worse than it was. No one had died, not even the bastards in the bar.  Even the man who looked like Steve was fine, apparently content to simply flee the scene with a battered face rather face arrest.  That was just as well for Tony; he didn’t particularly want word of what he’d done getting out (or why he’d done it).  SHIELD had come on the scene instantly.  Thankfully the helicarrier had already been in the China Sea, dealing with an arms dealer operating out of Shanghai.  It was a goddamn coincidence, a good one, something going right for once.  Fury and his teams were already working to contain the spread of both the fire and information.  Truly it was thanks to JARVIS the situation hadn’t escalated; the AI had smartly contacted Clint right after Tony had left the wedding, so Natasha and he had been able to make it there right away.  SHIELD teams had evacuated the slums, keeping the people calm and safe while dampening rumors that Iron Man had been spotted in the streets, that Tony was responsible for the altercation.  With most the ruckus kept quiet and the fire (both literal and figurative) under control, the three Avengers had returned to the helicarrier.

Now Tony sat in that same conference room in the command center where he had months ago, right after learning that Steve was dead, right after finding his ring and shield on the New Venture.  He held the ring now, clutched it through his unbuttoned, bloodied, soot-streaked dress shirt, pressing it into the arc reactor.  He had a blanket around his shoulders, and he was staring emptily at the gleaming table, too lost in shock to feel even pain right then.  The enormity of what had happened was barely sinking into him.  Processing it was too much.  It was like a lump of gristle stuck in his throat, something thick and awful that he couldn’t swallow much less digest.  He thought back on the last few hours and shame left him crumpled and weak.  Christ, how had he gotten so lost?  So disgustingly obsessed?  That man…  As he thought back on the images, he realized he could have seen the signs that it wasn’t Steve.  The disparities in his face, in his eyes.  He could have _seen_ it, but he hadn’t let himself.  No, hope had clouded his judgment, just like JARVIS had said, and everything had come apart inside him when those things had been taken from him.  In a way, seeing Steve’s face on a stranger like that…  It had been like losing Steve all over again, only this was crueler because it had been a loss of his own making.  He’d fucked up.  He’d fucked up so terribly.

The door to the conference room opened, and Natasha came in.  She was still dressed in her SHIELD uniform.  Tony hadn’t seen her in a few months, not really, and she’d cut her hair shorter so that the lush, red curls framed her face.  She wasn’t smiling, coming closer with a steaming mug.  “Here.  Drink this.  It’s tea.”

It took great effort to make himself let go of Steve’s dog tags and wedding ring, to reach his hands out from under the blanket to take the cup.  Moving hurt, too.  The doctors in medical had closed up the deeper parts of the slash across his stomach, but the stitches pulled when he breathed.  His ribs ached, and his head was pounding.  He knew he was lucky.  _Lucky._

She sat at the table to his right, watching with unreadable eyes as he slowly sipped the tea.  It was too hot, and it burned all the way down his throat.  “What were you thinking, Tony?”

Tony didn’t answer.  He didn’t know what to say, and his throat was so tight he wasn’t sure he could speak anyway.  Natasha leaned back with a soft crackle of leather.  He knew that she knew what had happened.  JARVIS had probably told everyone, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t hard to piece together.  His obsession hadn’t exactly been a secret.  A small part of him shriveled in embarrassment to think of the number of people who knew how far he’d let himself fall.  Natasha and Clint.  Fury and a great deal of SHIELD (after all, the whole damn helicarrier had come to his rescue).  Surely Rhodey and Happy and Pepper.  _Pepper._   He didn’t want to think about that, rubbing at his aching eyes.

“Fury wants to rip you a new one,” Natasha said after a moment.  He chanced looking at her to find her appraising him emptily.  “Not sure that he shouldn’t.”

“Neither am I,” Tony murmured, closing his hands around the warm mug.

“You could have killed people.  A lot of people.  If that fire had spread–”

“I know.”

“SHIELD is out there covering your ass.  An American citizen causing an altercation like this on foreign soil.  You should be grateful it happened in so unsavory an area because the Filipino government may not press charges.  Hill’s already working to suggest the Avengers were deployed there to deal with local crime that ties into bigger factions.  It’s a load of bullshit.  Pray they buy it.”

Tony looked away.  Dishonoring Steve didn’t quit cover this.  “I know,” he whispered again.

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” she demanded, this time sharper.

His eyes welled, and he blinked to keep the tears back.  It was all but impossible.  He was so fucking sick of crying.  “I thought…  I thought it was him.”

The room went silent.  The hum of the helicarrier was loud, faintly rumbling his seat.  Tony closed his eyes, uncaring about the tears that were slowly rolling down his cheeks, uncaring that she was watching him quietly shatter.  He didn’t have anything left inside him, not anything worth saving.  His heart was sluggish, bleeding, teetering on defeat.  That ocean of misery in which he’d been barely wading for weeks, _months…_   He was going to sink now, and she’d see it, and what did it matter?  He deserved to drown.  He deserved to have her tell him he was a fucking fool, a selfish bastard, an obsessed, impulsive _child_ unable to accept the cold truth even when it was shoved right in front of his face.

But she didn’t.  She sighed softly, leaning forward again slowly and reaching across the table.  She didn’t quite touch him, resting her hand right by his.  Her eyes were fixated on his wedding ring where his fingers were curled around the mug.  “Back…  Back a few months ago, when I was hunting down leads in Texas, I thought I saw him, too.”

Tony opened his eyes and blearily focused on her.  Now she was blankly staring at the tendrils of steam rising from his tea.  The wisps of vapor curled and twisted before dissipating, like ghostly fingers.  Like hopes vanishing because they’d never really had substance and couldn’t be sustained.  “It was right near the end of when I was searching,” she said after a moment.  “I was in Galveston, trying to get more information from the Coast Guard Station there.  It was late one night, and I was tired and on my way back to my hotel.  I was trying to figure out how I was going to sneak more time in.  Fury and Hill were onto me, so I was figuring this was going to be it.  I was going to have to report in and go back to work.  But I needed another couple of days.  It was always that, needing another couple days to chase down some hint of something that I knew wasn’t going to pan out.  That never mattered.  I was desperate because I – I couldn’t let him go.  I wasn’t ready to even consider it.  So I was trying to think of an excuse to stay.  And right there, in the hotel lobby…”  She shook her head, gaze even more distant with the memory.  “God, I could have sworn it was him.  Same build.  Same hair.  Same way he walked.  Same blue eyes.  Even had a silver wedding ring.”

Tony tried not to let the memories come, but they did.  The guy in Manila.  Steve’s face, distorted and wrong but close enough that maybe he could let himself believe it was real.  He nearly had.  Natasha was going on, telling him more.  “I was sure, so sure I almost called you, but I was too excited to really think about it.  I went up to him before I even knew what I was doing.  Went up to him and was about to touch his shoulder, call his name…”  She shook her head.  “But someone else did.  And his name wasn’t Steve.  It was Paul.  The person who’d said it was his wife.  I stopped dead in my tracks, felt like the world was collapsing around me as he took her hand and walked right past me, not even noticing how close I’d come to touching him.  They left, and I went to my room and called Hill and told her I’d report in first thing in the morning.”

Her story wasn’t making him feel much better.  But, then, he supposed that wasn’t the point.  “Steve’s dead, Tony.”  Tony looked up.  Normally he would have argued, would have denied, would have gotten angry and pushed her away or run away himself.  He didn’t, though.  He was too tired, too broken for that now.  Natasha gave a small, sad smile, nodding to his unspoken acquiescence.  “He is.  He died on the rig.  After I thought I saw him, I sat in my hotel room, and I cried for the first time about it.  Really cried.  It took a lot for me to do it, takes a lot for me to even tell you now…”  She flushed uncomfortably, and he could appreciate that.  “But I didn’t have much choice.  It was coming, and I had to let it out.  I let it all go, all this stuff I wasn’t letting myself feel.  It hurt a lot, but what hurt more was how lost in trying to deny it I’d become.  I felt like… like I was doing Steve a disservice.  I was trying to ignore the sacrifice he made just because accepting it was too painful.  If Steve taught me anything, it was how to be strong, how to pick myself up and keep fighting.”  Tony knew that all too well.  Steve had taught him the same.  “And I couldn’t keep fighting if I couldn’t admit the truth.”

“Tash…”

“You need to admit it, too, admit it to yourself.”  She leaned closer, finally grasping his hands and holding tight.  She swept her thumbs over his bruised knuckles.  “It’s time.  You’re killing yourself.”  He knew she didn’t just mean the stupid stunt he’d just pulled or the dozens of times before when he’d gone off to the dark corners of the world on his crusade.  “Losing him was enough.  We… we can’t lose you, too.”

“Not sure I know how,” he confessed in a soft tone.  Addiction and obsession.  He couldn’t let go of things.  Searching for Steve, endlessly analyzing the data from the explosion, running down every lead and exploring every clue…  That had become his crutch, and he didn’t know if he could walk without it anymore.

“I know,” Natasha said.  “We’ll help you if you just let us in.  We want to help you.”  God, that seemed impossible.  But he wanted it.  He hadn’t let himself feel that, either, not for months.  Not since sealing himself in the Tower.  “Please, Tony.”  She squeezed his hands gently.  “What I realized, back in that hotel months ago…  It’s not about Steve’s death.  You don’t need to accept what happened because Steve died.”  She brushed her hand on his cheek.  “You need to accept it because you’re alive and you deserve to live.”

He couldn’t hold it in anymore.  There was a flash of embarrassment that he was going to lose his composure here with Black Widow, but it was a fleeting, futile thing because the knot in his throat suddenly loosened and the sob slipped out.  It was just like she said: it was coming, and there was no choice.  He had to let it out.  So he did.  Natasha moved the tea away, and Tony curled onto the table, too exhausted to fight any longer.  The tears came again, came as hard and harshly as they ever had before, and he couldn’t stop them.  He was too worn down, too weak.  Months of suffering alone with his grief coupled with the hell of what had just happened crushed his resolve, shattered what little remained of his strength, and he cried.

She didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything.  She let him go, and he sank down deep into that ocean inside him, sobbing with soft, deep breaths, shuddering against the table.  All the bottled up misery fled him on each shivery sigh, on each tear.  He didn’t fight it.  Didn’t try to hold it in or despise himself for being weak or cowardly.  He simply cried for a while, and succumbing to it felt… surprisingly okay.  He’d cried a lot over the last six months, but no other time had been so freeing.  Comforting, really.  Calm waves and gentle seas that were leading him somewhere other than a vicious circle back to where he’d started.

 _Healing._   Maybe it could be.  Maybe this was the start of it.  He sighed through one sob then another and another, finding it easier to breathe, to get himself out of his pain.  To climb free of that dark ocean and stand up.  He was looser and calmer.  Accepting, perhaps.  He came back to himself slowly, breathing slowly and peacefully, and saw Natasha smiling right beside him.  She wiped at her own eyes before pulling the blanket up around him more firmly.  “I’m sorry, Tony,” she said when she was certain he was focused on her.  “I’m sorry about Steve, about everything.  I’m sorry we didn’t fight harder to stay close to you.  It’s going to be okay now.”

It was the same things he’d been told over and over again.  He’d considered it all empty drivel, stupid, placating solace, meaningless and vapid.  Now, though…  Now he let himself believe it.  He wanted to believe it.  He had to.  “Thanks,” he whispered.

Natasha smiled.  There was a knock behind them before the door opened.  Clint was there.  “I think the fire’s out,” he said, his eyes on Natasha.

“That’s good,” she commented, standing and heading to the back of the room where office supplies were arranged on a table.  “Here, too.”

Clint turned to Tony, his expression soft and compassionate.  “You ready to go home?”

Tony sniffled, taking a couple tissues from the box Natasha offered him.  Again that little prickle of embarrassment rose up inside him, but he wiped his eyes and his nose all the same.  “Huh?”

Clint folded his arms across his chest and leaned into the door frame.  “Home.  Nat and I will fly you there.  Been a long day.”  Tony couldn’t argue with that.  The thought of going home without Steve…  Well, he couldn’t lie.  It still hurt.  Everything hurt, but the pain was more distant.  He could get through it.

He wasn’t alone.

Clint came over to help him as he stood, grasping his arm and steadying him.  Crying had worn him out even more, and between the pain from his injuries and that, he was lethargic and uncertain.  Clint was gentle, though, and patient, helping him limp to the door.  Natasha followed, and she stayed close for comfort as they headed out onto the bridge of the helicarrier.  Tony expected people to stare, to wonder at his red eyes and ruined tuxedo and disheveled appearance.  At how low he was.  Some of the techs and agents _did_ look, but they had nothing but sympathy in their eyes.  Not even pity.  _Sympathy._   They all understood, _all of them_ from Natasha and Clint to Fury and Hill to the techs and the SHIELD agents and STRIKE Team…  _Everyone._   They all understood because they had all lost Steve, too.  _People._   Like Pepper had said months ago before the funeral.  The world had lost Captain America.  The world was hurting, too.  There needed to be healing.

Tony couldn’t keep doing this. 

Fury turned from his place on the bridge at their approach.  Tony sighed, gathering himself, and pulled away from Clint to stand a little straighter.  He knew he deserved whatever penalty Fury wanted to levy upon him.  Accepting responsibility for his actions, his shortcomings, his mistakes…  _Honor Steve._   “I screwed up,” he murmured as the SHIELD Director coolly appraised him, “and I’m sorry.”

Obviously Fury hadn’t been anticipating a confession.  Truth be told, Tony was fairly surprised at himself.  Any other place and time, a few months ago when he’d barged into Fury’s office and _demanded_ the investigation be opened…  He wouldn’t have been so genuinely apologetic, remorseful, and calm.  Fury’s glare immediately turned gentler, and he dropped his confrontational stance.  “Never again,” he warned, not as harshly as Tony had expected.  “Understand, Stark?  Never again.”

“I understand,” Tony said.  “Never again.”  _Never._

Fury seemed content with that.  He could have gone on quite a bit more about the damage (financial and otherwise) or about how Tony had let the Avengers fall apart or how Fury had trusted him with the data from the investigation only to have him use it for, exactly as the Director had said, _the wrong reasons._ Or how the world needed him to be stronger, to show everyone that life went on after Captain America’s loss.

But he didn’t say any of that.  “Go home.  We can talk more another time.”

Tony closed his aching eyes a moment and blew out a slow breath.  _Home._   “Okay.”

* * *

It was a long flight from the other side of the world, and by the time they got back to New York, the whole incident was starting to feel surreal, almost like it hadn’t happened.  Like it had been a nightmare, and now he was waking up from it.  He was coming out of the hell he’d been living, coming out of it now and seeing for the first time in what felt like forever what the world really looked like.

And it looked… _okay_.

Happy and Pepper were waiting on the helipad as Clint set the quinjet set.  Shame cut through Tony viciously, but, again, there was no hiding from what he’d done.  Natasha stayed at his side as Clint powered down the jet, and she helped him down the ramp.  He limped up to Pepper and Happy, both of whom were stern with worry.  The image couldn’t have been any worse (well, maybe if she’d stood there in her wedding dress.  That would have been worse).  Why had they come?  Christ, he was an asshole.  An absolute, uncaring, unbelievable _asshole._   “I’m sorry,” he whispered, unable to make his voice work more than that.  “I’m so sorry.”

Pepper looked caught between wanting to hug him and throttle him.  “So am I.  This was–”

“Fuck, I know,” he whimpered.  “I ruined your wedding.  I _ruined_ it.  I didn’t mean to.  I didn’t even think.  I just–”

Pepper suddenly threw her arms around him.  His chest hurt enough that he staggered with the contact, nearly falling backward.  “I was so scared,” she whispered into his shoulder, clutching him tight.  “When JARVIS said where you’d gone and why…  God, Tony.”

He closed his eyes and slowly embraced her, too.  He didn’t deserve her.  He didn’t deserve any of them.

“You owe me, boss,” Happy said, nudging Tony lightly when Pepper let him go.  She wiped her eyes, and he smiled, and they seemed alright despite the fact that their wedding hadn’t gone to plan.  Despite the fact that they were here instead of on their way to their honeymoon or at least enjoying their wedding night with their guests and each other.  But they’d both come to be with him.  It was late, and they looked exhausted and worn.  That was his fault.  It was going take some getting used to.

“I owe you for a lot of things,” Tony replied after a moment, catching sight of the gold band on Happy’s finger and the matching one on Pepper’s.  “Make sure you take care of her, huh?  Never let her out of your sight.”

Happy understood what Tony wasn’t saying, giving a sad but firm nod.  The group headed inside the Tower.  Rhodey was there in the large common room.  He didn’t look as forgiving as Pepper and Happy did, and Tony winced at how hard he was frowning.  “I’d ask you what the hell you were doing pulling a crazy ass stunt like this,” he said tautly, “but you look sufficiently whipped.  So come sit down.”  Behind him there was an array of pizza and salad, and the table was set for a very late dinner.

Tony grimaced anew and shook his head.  “Don’t feel like eating.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve lost the right to choose,” Clint said, dragging him toward the table.  “This is an intervention, dude.  And you’re doing what we say until we say you’re not anymore.”

There was no arguing, no debate.  Tony submitted, and it didn’t even feel patronizing.  He let Pepper seat him at the table between her and Natasha.  He let Rhodey drop a plate of pizza and salad in front of him and Clint get him some water.  Everyone watched him eat, not even trying to hide it.  It was rather awkward, and Steve’s absence weighed upon them all heavily.  No one spoke much, but it felt good to have them there.  He really wasn’t alone.

After that, Pepper led Tony up to the penthouse.  It was difficult to follow her.  He hadn’t been up there really, definitely hadn’t slept there, for months, and Steve’s things would still be all over.  Trepidation churned in his gut as she guided him to the bedroom.  Sure enough, everything was mostly as it had been left.  The cleaning people had been in, but Steve’s books and sketchpads and clothes and _everything_ was right where he’d left it.  Steve’s life, right before it had ended.  Right before he’d been taken away.  Tony stood at the foot of the bed and stared.  “Come on,” Pepper coaxed softly.

“I don’t think I can.”

“You can,” she promised with a soft smile.  “I’m going to spend the night with you.”

He gave a hurt frown.  “I don’t think that’s how your wedding night is supposed to go.”

She started turning down the bed.  “Well, it’s my wedding night.  I can decide who to spend it with.”  A little smile graced her face.  “Throw it on the list of what you owe Happy.”

It didn’t take much more to get him moving.  He was tired and sore enough to want to sleep, no matter where it was.  This was monumental, the first time he’d even considered going to sleep in their bed since Steve died.  He changed into pajamas, trying not to look at his haggard, bruised face and damaged chest as he did.  Coming out of the bathroom, he spotted Pepper sitting there on the edge of the bed, dressed in her own pajamas.  She gestured for him to come closer, and he did.  Tentatively he sat next to her.  She laid down on her side, on Steve’s side of the bed.  And he breathed, swimming in memories a moment, before laying down, too.  JARVIS turned down the lights.

Tony was stiff.  As exhausted as he was, it was difficult to relax.  He could feel Pepper’s eyes on him in the heavy darkness.  Quiet minutes slipped away before she reached across the distance between them and took his hand, weaving their fingers together over his belly.  “Just close your eyes,” she whispered.  “I’m right here.  I’m not leaving.”  Tony swallowed and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply.  “You’re not alone, Tony.  Sleep.”

_“I love you, Tony.”_

Sometime later, Pepper had drifted off into slumber, and Tony blinked himself awake from a light doze.  He glanced over and found her soft and serene.  She hadn’t left him.  Of course she wouldn’t.  He lifted their hands, still joined, and brushed his lips over her knuckles before untangling himself from her and climbing out of the bed.  The room was silent, the light from the moon outside slipping in through the blinds to make everything seem beautiful and otherworldly.  Steve’s things.  Steve’s shield against the wall by the door, shining beautifully in the moonlight.  Steve’s presence all around him.  It wasn’t as painful or frightening as he thought.  He could do this.  He could move on.  He could let go.

He was ready.

Quietly he walked to the desk.  There was the little box in the drawer there where he kept his parents’ wedding rings, a picture of Edwin Jarvis, his grandfather’s pocket watch that his father had gifted to him when he’d been a boy.  It was where he’d kept Steve’s dog tags before, too, before he’d started wearing them.  Pulling the box out, he opened it.  Then he reached under his t-shirt and lifted the chain with the dog tags and the wedding ring up and over his head.  He held them in his palm a moment, staring at them as the pale blue light of the arc reactor washed over them.  They, too, seemed ethereal.  Otherworldly.  Heavenly.

He took a deep breath, let Steve’s presence around him and inside him bring him that sense of peace it always did and always would.  “I love you, too,” he whispered.  He kissed the ring before carefully laying it into the box and closing the lid.  “Goodbye.”


	8. Chapter 8

**PART TWO**

 

“Sir, Mr. Stone is here.  Shall I send him away?”

Tony squinted in confusion as he looked up from his computers.  “Huh?”

“Tiberius Stone,” JARVIS repeated.  “He would like a meeting.  I can send him away.”

It took Tony a second to switch his brain out of code for the new power regulation algorithms he was developing for the Green Light Initiative, which was rapidly nearing its launch.  Another second passed before he actually managed to put a face to the name.  And context.  _What the hell’s he doing here?_ The inkling to ignore it never manifested itself beyond just that: an inkling.  He sighed heavily.  “No, send him up.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Tony chewed at his lower lip, trying to go back to debugging a few lines of code that weren’t compiling so he could wrap this up before his flight, but he didn’t get too much farther before the elevator dinged down the hall and the doors to his workshop opened.  Ty strolled inside.  “Hi, Tony,” he greeted.

Tony glanced up from his work again, spotting the other man coming closer.  “Ty.”  Then he did an absolute double take.  “Whoa.  Holy shit.  You look… _good._ ”

Ty smiled, flashing two perfect rows of really white teeth.  He did look absolutely amazing.  His clothes were immaculate, a _very_ expensive suit, and he stood tall and lean.  Tony tried to think back on the last time he’d seen him.  It had to have been before Steve’s death.  Ty had looked good back then, too, surprisingly youthful for being – what was it?  Fifty?  Something like that.  Anyway, now it was even more remarkable.  His skin was nearly flawless, tanned and glowing with vitality.  His eyes were bright with energy and exuberance.  His hair was brown, barely even streaked with silver at the temples.  _Wow_.  Whatever he was doing to himself, it was incredible.  If Tony hadn’t known he was fifty – _fifty-one_ , he silently corrected himself – he would never have been able to tell.  “Eh, you know,” Ty said with what seemed like fake humility.  “Spend your money where it counts, huh?  On the fountain of youth.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow to that.  Apparently Ty was taking the idea of a midlife crises to a whole new level.  A pretty vain one, at that.  That amount of Botoxing and face-lifting and who knew what else he’d had done probably cost a small fortune.  He was just oozing oily confidence, and that immediately made Tony’s gut clench unhappily.  There was no way he could concentrate with Ty here, so he swiped his data closed and stood and crossed the workshop.  He shook the other man’s hand.  Christ, even his skin was soft and without calluses.  “How are you?”  The question was pretty perfunctory, considering how good Ty looked and how huge his grin was, but manners and all that.

Ty seemed appreciate his interest, smiling even wider.  “Good!  Good.  Life’s fine.”

“That’s good to hear.”  Tony stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  “Biopharm treating you well?”

Ty flashed another grin.  It was smug, no other way to describe it.  “Always does.”

“Great,” Tony said.  They were silent a moment, and Tony shuffled uncomfortably.  All the shitty feelings he associated with Ty came right to the forefront like they always did, but they were duller than he remembered.  A lot of things were nowadays.  Less vibrant, less impactful.  Less touching.  He was still getting used to that sometimes.  It occasionally took him by surprise, that this was his life now, but for the most part, he was coping.  Functioning.  _Okay._

Ty stared at him like he was trying to see beneath Tony’s skin.  Or figure something out.  Either way it still made him feel as uncomfortable as hell.  “You’re just stopping by?” Tony asked, trying to be patient.  “Or what?”

That seemed to snap Ty from his scrutiny.  “Oh, yeah.  Yeah, I was on my way out to LA and I thought I’d drop in and see how you’re doing.  I haven’t talked to you since before…”  Ty faltered with a sad smile.  “Since before.”

Tony played dumb, going back to his workbench.  His workshop was more or less back to the way it had been.  All the files and wreckage was gone to storage, and everything was back where it was supposed to be, except for Steve’s couch.  Tony still couldn’t bring himself to bring that back, so he had replaced it with a new, fancy, black Italian leather job that was about as far away from who Steve had been and what he’d liked as possible.  Tony had also kept the holopad; it was hugely useful for all the projects he’d been doing for SHIELD and SI.  “Yeah,” he said, sitting on his stool and reopening his files.  Screw not being able to work.  Anything to distract him from dealing with this was good.  “Back before.”

Ty frowned.  “I realized just yesterday on my flight back from London that I never actually got a hold of you after Steve’s death.”  Something about Ty casually mentioning Steve’s death like that set Tony even more on edge.  _Steve’s death._   Not your husband’s death.  Not even Captain Rogers’ death.  It was too much familiarity for a guy who’d never met him.  “I left a bunch of messages, but you never responded, not to that or to the flowers I sent.  And I don’t blame you for that at all.  You had enough on your mind.”

Tony sighed through his nose.  Frankly, he didn’t remember anything Ty had supposedly said or sent.   He wouldn’t have cared if he’d sent an entire fucking garden full of flowers.  “I’m sure I appreciated your thoughtfulness.”  Isn’t that what he was supposed to say?

Looking contrite, Ty nodded sadly.  “I truly was sorry.  Very deeply sorry.  He was…  He was an amazing man.  An inspiration to everyone.”

“Thank you.”

“Did SHIELD ever determine if someone paid the pirates to murder him?”

 _And here we are._ The point of the conversation they inevitably reached where Tony wanted to throw Ty out on his ass.  He could still be such a tactless son of a bitch.  On today of all days, too.  He didn’t want to dredge this up, not in the least.  “No.”  He pushed off his stool again and brushed his fingers across the screen.  His code transferred to the holopad, where he could see all of it, how the algorithm came together and how the pieces related to each other.  He walked to the center of the room, raising his arms slightly to bring the data closer, and pretended to be engrossed.  Maybe Ty would take a fucking hint.

He didn’t.  Instead, he came to stand beside Tony, wide-eyed and impressed.  “This is pretty nice,” he commented, looking around as Tony started to work through his problematic algorithm.  “Gives a whole new meaning to being immersed in your work.”

“It has its uses,” Tony returned, staring at the problem anew.  He reached into the air and grabbed the misbehaving lines, enlarging them and bringing them before his eyes.

“This something for the company?”

Tony was feeling rattled enough that he almost forgot Ty’s propensity to swipe things that weren’t his.  At least that was the propensity he used to have.  He highly doubted Ty would be able figure out what he was doing anyway, and it was already patented for the green energy project.  Plus it wouldn’t matter much without the millions of lines of code and the arc reactor technology to go with it, and those were securely locked away out in Malibu.  “Yeah.”

Ty nodded.  “Are you still working for SHIELD?”  He smiled again.  “Still saving the world on the regular?”

Unless he was living in a hermit hole, he damn well knew Tony wasn’t.  After the incident in Manila (which had thankfully resulted in no legal action against Tony, although he had paid above and beyond what had been necessary to restore the area he’d destroyed), Tony had effectively retired from the team.  With Captain America dead, Iron Man on the bench, the Hulk reluctant to participate, and Thor seemingly permanently gone to Asgard, there really wasn’t much of a team anymore.  “Not on the regular.  Occasionally,” he responded.  And he did occasionally help when Black Widow and Hawkeye really needed him, but it was a true rarity that he put on the armor these days.  That was just fine with him, and everyone else, Fury especially, was accepting of his decision.  He did miss it, and there were plenty of times when he still felt like he was betraying Steve’s wishes by letting the Avengers fall apart, but that was never enough motivation to overcome how much it hurt him to fly into battle without Steve there at his side.  His absence there was always too painful and distracting.  Manila had frightened him, too, scarred him in ways that were slow to heal.  It was better for him this way.

“Feel more settled?”

“As a widower?”  Tony tried to make that sharp and irritated, but it just came out tired.  “That’s not something you just adjust to, Ty.  No matter how much you think you should.”

Ty flushed a bit with embarrassment, the first genuine moment of regret he’d had since showing up.  “Sorry.  I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Tony tried not to let himself feel bad for being harsh.  It was still all too easy to remember the times Ty had manipulated him.  “I’m doing fine.  It’s…”  He didn’t know how to describe it, this last year of his life, the months since Steve had passed away.  “It’s good days and bad days.  Kinda what people tell you.”  The good days were outnumbering the bad recently.  Of course, “good” was a bit of a misnomer.  It was more like “decent” or “tolerable” or “alright”.  Something he could survive without too much misery on his part.  He didn’t feel like himself anymore, that was for sure.  This was the new normal, the new routine.  A new baseline, and that meant figuring out who he was now without Steve. That was a monumental task in and of itself, and it was a question that didn’t have a clear answer.  However, for the most part he was feeling better about accepting that, that it really was one day at a time.  Days after days after days, and suddenly here he was, working and generally able to live without Steve.  Not hearing his voice in the silence between words or seeing his face every time he closed his eyes.  Not missing him so terribly in bed that sleep was a trying torture.  Tony was better, and he knew it.  Living again, working again, seeing other people again.  The team and his friends.  He was alright.  This was okay.

Ty gave another nod.  “When you lose what you had, sometimes the best you can do is try and forget and move on.”

The thought of getting advice on grieving from a man he could hardly stand, someone who’d hurt him a lifetime ago, should be downright aggravating.  He couldn’t manage caring that much, though.  “Sometimes it is.”

“What can you do, huh?”

The nonchalance was a little too much to swallow.  Tony managed a grin, but it was raw and weak.  “Nothing.”  He knew that all too well now.  He tried to make his peace with it, and for the most part, he’d succeeded.

A quiet moment came to them.  Ty was staring at him almost analytically, and the intensity of his gaze made Tony uncomfortable all over again.  This whole thing was uncomfortable, creepy like how Ty looked two decades younger than he was.  What the hell was he doing there, anyway?  On today of all days?  That was fucking coincidental.  Paying his respects seemed like a bunch of bullshit.

However, Ty looked away and sighed, and Tony found he couldn’t care too much about whatever game he was playing, anyway.  What did it matter if he was trying to screw around with him or manipulate him somehow?  He’d suffered through worse, _far worse_.  “Anyway, I just wanted to check in on you,” Ty said sadly.  “Make sure you’re alright.”

Tony bobbed his head.  “I’m alright.”

“Do you want to get some lunch today?  I had my secretary clear my schedule, and my flight to LA isn’t until the evening.”

“Not today.”  Definitely not today.  Ty gave him a quizzical, slightly hurt look, and Tony offered up a weak smile in return.  “I’m actually heading down to Virginia in a couple hours.  Business.”  And more, but Ty didn’t need to know that.  Ty didn’t deserve to.

Disappointment flittered across that perfectly tanned face.  “Okay.  Maybe next time, huh?”

Tony’s gut clenched.  “Sure.”

The next thing he knew, Ty was pulling him into a hug.  He couldn’t help himself; he stiffened hard, went as rigid as a board, as the other man embraced him firmly.  Ty didn’t seem to notice his reaction, wrapping his arms firmly around him.  His grip seemed implacable, and he stank of expensive cologne.  His breath brushed against Tony’s ear.  “Stay strong.  Steve would’ve wanted that, for you to stay strong without him.  No matter what.”  Tony had to clench his muscles to keep from shuddering.  Ty pulled back, grasping his shoulders in a friendly show of affection.  “I know he’s in a better place now.”

 _Christ, not today._   Somehow Tony conjured up a smile, patting Ty’s arm.  “I know.”

They stared at one another a moment, and, again, Ty seemed to gauge him like he was looking for _something_.  There was remorse on his face, in the loose, forlorn frown, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes.  He was so goddamn off-putting.  Feeling uncomfortable to the tips of his toes, Tony pulled away.  “I need to get going.  Gotta finish up some work before my flight.”

“Sorry.  Of course.”  Ty turned to leave.  “I’ll call in a few days.  Might be nice to rekindle our friendship, you know?  Since we’re both…  Well, we’re both alone.  And we are who we are.”

Anything to get him out of there.  “Yeah.”

“Alright.  Talk to you then.”  Ty offered up a dazzling smile, the same one that had always reeled Tony in back in college like a fish helpless on a hook, and left.

Tony stood there amidst his work for a moment, the lines of code floating around him, and gazed blankly at the now sealed doors of his workshop.  He watched Ty disappear down the hallway, heading to the elevator bank.  Long after the lift had taken him away, he was still staring.  “Sir,” JARVIS softly said, “are you alright?”

He snapped out of it with a grunt, waving his momentary stupor away.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  I’m good.”  He sniffled.  “I’m good.”

JARVIS didn’t seem convinced.  “Perhaps you have done enough work today.  Your flight is in less than two hours.  Perhaps a nice meal would do you some good.”

Tony shook his head and went back to his code.  “No, no.  Pepper needs this finished.  It’s fine.”  It always was now.  _Fine._ “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Later that day, Tony found himself walking alone through Arlington.  His driver had dropped him not far from Steve’s grave, but it was still something of a little hike over a small hill or two to a more secluded section of the cemetery.  It was chilly, a little drizzly, and the cold moisture seeped through his coat and clothes and skin and into his bones almost instantly despite his umbrella.  The trees were brilliantly gold and yellow but sodden with rain.  He walked along the well-maintained paths to Steve’s grave, breathing slowly, deeply, watching the small cloud of heat jet away from his lips before fading entirely.  That was maybe a little melancholy, but so was the weather.  And his mood, for that matter.  He figured he was entitled today.

Across the grass, still so green and lush with early autumn, he spotted Steve’s grave.  It was set apart from the others.  He hadn’t been here since the burial, since before the gravestone had been placed, so he was pleasantly surprised to see the number of things spread around it.  So many flowers, some fresh and others fake but beautiful.  Little flags sticking into the soft earth.  Pictures and medals and letters.  They were all getting wet now, so without a second thought he knelt to gather them up and put the more fragile, papery things under the umbrella where he propped it beside the headstone.  Wiping his hands, he rose to his full height, uncaring that he was getting wet now.  It felt good to do that, to protect these things people had left to Steve.

Sighing gently, he put his hands in the pockets of his coat and stood there, looking at Steve’s grave.  It was sleek, polished, gray granite, and it was a larger gravesite and gravestone than the average soldier was allotted.  He supposed that made sense.  He read the words on it over and over again.  _Steven Grant Rogers.  Cpt., US Army.  World War II.  July 4 th 1918 – October 6th 2015.  Captain America.  Avenger.  Hero.  Purple Heart.  Medal of Honor._  It went on more, more than Steve probably would have wanted.   That was alright.  The world deserved to know what sort of man they’d lost.

Tony stared in the rain a moment more, feeling too empty and numb to speak.  He hadn’t much thought about what he wanted to say, not even on the flight down.  He was finding it easier not to think much about things.  No, it was easier simply to take things as they were.  Day by day again.  It worked well enough for the most part, only now he stood there, getting soaked in the cold, misty drizzle, uncertain of what he was doing.  He sighed, looking down at his shoes, and just started talking.  “Hey, baby.  It’s… um…  It’s been a while since you…”  His voice almost broke.  It always shocked him how he still could fall back into his grief so easily, even after all this time.  “Well, since.  This is the anniversary.  A big one, so I’m told.  The big one.  One year.”

_One year._

Sometimes it didn’t seem real that he could have lived a whole year – three hundred and sixty-five days – without Steve.  What was even less real (but infinitely more disturbing) was that he’d gotten used to it.  Used to _not_ having Steve there, with him, at his side, his lover and husband and partner and best friend and everything else he’d ever needed and wanted.  He nodded to himself, forcing himself to look up and stare at the gravestone.  “I guess I should just talk.  That’s what Nat said to do.  She says she visits you a lot.  Gives her comfort.”  _Comfort._   This didn’t feel like that, but he wasn’t trying too hard.  So he sighed again and made himself keep going.  “I’ve been doing okay.  Seeing a therapist, which was kind of required after I nearly burned part of a foreign city down looking for you.  You don’t really need to know the details.  You’d be pretty pissed at me if you did.”  He smiled.  He’d gotten this far, to where he _could_ smile about it.  “But anyway, it’s going well.  Well enough.  I keep telling myself that’s an accomplishment.  You know how I feel about stuff like that.”  His smiled quickly faded.  “Things are different.  Of course, they are.  But I’m learning to live with it.  Another accomplishment, I guess.  It’s okay.  Life goes on, right?”  Again his voice broke, but he breathed through the building sob.  He’d been so okay lately that this felt almost embarrassing, to slip again like he was.

But he had a right.  Today of all days, he had a right.  “Um…  What else, right?  Yeah, so the team took a big hit when you died, as well it should because you were the one holding us all together no matter how many times you denied it.  Nat and Clint are still around.  I talk to them every few days.  Obviously, since Nat told me to come and do this.  They’re back to kicking ass and taking names for SHIELD, which suits them fine.  And Bruce is back in the States.  Gonna see him after you, actually.  He’s been working at Culver with Betty, and that’s been really good for him.  He’s a lot more settled.  I think Thor’s back on Asgard right now, but he’s been here, too.  Off and on.  He’s with Jane a lot.  Says staying at the Tower holds too many painful memories for him.”

Another deep breath through his nose.  He could do this.  He knew he could.  And he wanted to.  “You, uh…  You should see the gaudy statues they’ve made of you all over the place.  There’s one here, one in Manhattan, couple overseas, one in Brooklyn.  The one in Brooklyn is particularly ridiculous.  You’d hate it.  Honestly, I don’t think it even looks like you.  And people keep pressuring me to talk about you, you know, news magazines and talk shows.  I’m running out of polite ways to tell them to go to hell.  And I know, I know.  ‘They’re just doing their jobs, Tony.’  You always had way more patience for that than I do.  You were too nice.  But I’m handling it, and I’m keeping busy.  Doing stuff for SI and for SHIELD.  Loads of things.  The Green Light Initiative’s about to launch.  I know you were excited about that.  It’s kept me busy.  Been more productive over the last year than I have been in ages, mostly because I don’t have you and your grabtacular ass there distracting me.”  He chuckled to himself.  Some of the rain on his lips was warm and tasted a tad salty.  He twisted his wedding ring around nervously.  He was doing that more and more.  “I’m okay, Steve.  I really am.  So you don’t need to worry.  You always worried about me.  Bringing me food and making sure I slept and keeping an eye on me in battle and making sure I was – I was rising above my problems.  Making sure I knew I wasn’t alone.  Well, I know I’m not alone.  I’ve got our friends, our family, so I’m okay now.”

All the sudden he lost it.  The sob finally breached his lips, softer and less angry than they used to be.  “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go down on my knees right here and beg you to come back to me.  Say something to me.  Look at me.  It’s crazy, and I know that, but I – I _miss_ you.  Miss you so much!”  The world blurred, rain and tears, and he squeezed his eyes shut, shivering in the cold.  “So much.  It still hurts.  Don’t think it’ll ever stop, no matter how many months or years pass.  Nat keeps going on about closure, and I know it’s important, but I know you’re not here, not with me and not in the ground right in front of me, and everything is still so raw because of that.  I don’t think closure is something I’ll ever find, not here or anywhere else.  Not completely.  I’m still trying to accept that.”

The rain came harder. It was gently falling over the cemetery, pattering against the leaves on the nearby trees, making the graves glisten in the dim daylight.  Tony sniffled, gathering himself.  A couple deep breaths grounded him.  “Anyway, I should get going.  Gonna catch my death out here like this, right?  That seems like an old-timey thing you’d say.”  Tony smiled faintly.  “And that’s kinda it, anyway.  What I wanted to tell you.  You don’t have to worry.  I’m stronger now.  I can…  I can live without you.  And I’ll be okay.  I know I will be.  So you…  You just rest, sweetheart.  Wherever you are now, you deserve that.”  He took a couple steps closer, pressing his lips to his palm in a kiss and then lowering his hand to the gravestone.  “I love you.”

The walk back to the car was cold and wet and miserable, but Tony had to admit: he did feel a little better.

* * *

He ended up having to stop at his hotel for a change of clothes before heading up to Willowdale.  It put him behind schedule, but he had a feeling with how Zen Bruce seemed to be about things lately, he wouldn’t mind much.  That turned out not to be the case.  “Where have you been?” Bruce quietly demanded as he headed down the white walls of Culver’s Biochem Department to meet Tony.  Tony never liked places like this, maze-like labyrinths buried in research buildings that were filled with indistinct labs and offices.  They felt so closed-in, claustrophobic really, and he couldn’t recall how he ever survived doing any significant work in environment like this when he’d been at MIT.  As Bruce reached him, he frowned, stern but not angry.  “We’ve been waiting a half an hour.”

“Sorry,” Tony replied.  “Went to see Steve.”  It felt weird referring to an empty grave in a cemetery as his husband, but that was what widows and widowers did, right?  A plot of land became a person because that was all that was left.  That was the point of what he’d just done, wasn’t it?

Bruce instantly calmed, his expression loosening.  “Oh,” he murmured as he fell into step beside Tony.  “Damn it.  Totally forgot what today is.”  It seemed crazy to him that anyone could forget that, but some people were moving on a lot faster than he was.  “I’m really sorry.”  Bruce shook his head.  “You want me to reschedule this?  It’s fine.  We can do it another time.”

“No, no.  I’m okay.”  Bruce gave him that same look he always used to give him when he thought Tony was full of shit.  Tony donned an air of confidence.  He’d gotten surprisingly good at looking (and making himself feel) like he was with it.  Irritated at Bruce’s worried scrutiny, he sighed shortly.  “It’s fine. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Another second was spent with Bruce hesitating.  Then he nodded.  “Alright.  He’s waiting in my lab.  You’re not going to believe what this guy’s come up with.  I tried to convince him to bring it here, but he’s a little security crazy unfortunately.  But just reading the prospectus…  Wow.”  Tony feigned excitement and interest.  He wasn’t too keen on reading anything right now.  Furthermore, he probably should have read the dossier Bruce had sent him a couple weeks ago, but he hadn’t made the time.  He could wing it.  Frankly, he wouldn’t have taken this meeting except for the fact that Bruce had asked.

Their footsteps echoed down the long tiled hallway until they reached the door to Bruce’s lab.  Then they went inside.  There was a man there dressed in a tweed suit that looked outdated and overused.  He had a horrendous comb-over that barely covered his balding head and a round face adorned in thick, black-rimmed glasses.  He looked like the sort that never saw daylight because that would require leaving his lab, that wouldn’t know how to talk to a woman unless quantum mechanics and _Star Trek_ were involved.  A real nerd.  The second he saw Tony, he looked simultaneously star-struck, overly excited, and completely out of his element.

Bruce gave a warm smile, gesturing between the two men.  “Tony Stark, this is Doctor Dave Galloway.  Dave, Tony.”

Galloway took his outstretched hand and pumped it vigorously.  “Mr. Stark, this is such an honor.  It’s so nice to meet you.”

Donning his best fake smile, Tony nodded.  “Likewise, Doctor Galloway.”

“Dave, please,” Dave said.  “I really appreciate you coming all the way down here to see me.”

Tony let him go.  “I was already in the neighborhood.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bruce shift uncomfortably with that.  He hadn’t said that to upset the other man, so he made an effort to seem sincerer about his smile and more enthusiastic about being there.  “So Bruce tells me you have something to talk about?”

Dave was positively thrilled at that.  “Yes, I do.  I’m _hoping_ not to get too far ahead of myself here, but, well, I’m positive you’ll be impressed with this.  I sent Bruce data on it about a year ago.  We call it the Chameleon, and we’re giving a presentation on it out at CalTech next week.  I asked Bruce to set up this meeting so I could personally invite you.”  He handed Tony a folder which clearly contained the aforementioned prospectus.

Tony still didn’t like being handed things, but he took it all the same and opened it.  The paper was glossy, at least, and the logo for Nova Engineering, the think tank where Galloway worked in Santa Monica, was on the exterior of the folder.  Inside there were a bunch of documents about the Chameleon.  Tony glanced at the top ones.  He remembered this more now.  “So it’s a suit of some sort?  An invisibility cloak?”

“It could be,” Dave answered.  “With the right funding.”

“Right.  I figured you’re talking to me because you need money,” he said, handing the folder back to Dave.  Dave blanched in barely restrained horror.  Tony didn’t mean to come off so curt.  This just wasn’t the day for someone to hit him up for cash.  “Bruce mentioned that you were running low on funds last year.”

“Low?  More like nonexistent.”  Dave tried for a sad smile.  “And this is yours to keep, Mr. Stark.  I’m not trying to be pushy at all, but, well, it’s the last one we’ve got and they were pretty pricey to make.”

Bruce’s eyes on him were pretty weighty.  Tony actually felt bad, so he took the nice folder back with a sigh.  He didn’t open it this time, though.  He just set it on the lab bench beside him.  “Why’d the government turn you down again?”

“Aside from the Chameleon being extremely expensive to produce?”  Dave frowned, clearly bothered that Tony hadn’t looked much at his prospectus.  Truth be told, he never read those things.  That wasn’t how he operated, and Bruce should have told this guy that.  “We had a serious problem with radiation emissions from the polymer.  Needless to say the Department of Defense wasn’t too thrilled to invest in a trackable stealth suit.”

“But you ironed out the issues,” Bruce said helpfully.

“Yeah, we did.  Just a few months ago.”  Tony couldn’t help but feel just a tad guilty about that.  As this meeting was going on, he was realizing more and more that Bruce hadn’t just sent him the information a year ago for the hell of it.  He’d needed Tony’s help with the bugs in the Chameleon’s design.  Right before Steve died, Bruce had been all over him about lending his critical eye to Galloway’s troubles.  With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten about it completely until now.

It was alright, though.  It seemed Dave and his team had managed alright without him.  The other man’s face lost its excited shine, and a worried look came about him again.  “Still, I’m not going to lie to you.  You’re right.  I am demoing this _for you_ because we need money.  CalTech turned us down.  So did NSF and the military.  That was before I fixed the flaw, but I don’t think going back to them will be overly helpful.  They’ve already decided the Chameleon is too expensive to mass produce.”

“What’s the projected price tag on a suit?” Tony asked.

“Oh, it’s in the millions,” Dave replied glumly.  “It requires high levels of Gamma radiation and quite a bit of some expensive substrates.”

“For a stealth suit?”  That didn’t make sense.  The tech for that was expensive but not to that magnitude.

“It’s not just a stealth suit.  I’d like to show you rather than tell you, though, if you wouldn’t mind.  I think the Chameleon can speak for itself.”  He tried for an enthusiastic smile.  “This is my last ditch effort, but that’s why I came to you, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” Tony said.  He didn’t like people calling him that, now more than ever.  Too cold and formal and he didn’t feel like half the man he used to be.

Nervously Dave grinned.  “Tony.  You have a penchant for turning the impractical and ridiculously difficult and expensive into something that works.  Chameleon could be revolutionary, but it sorely needs backing.  I’m not saying that because of the financial gains possible here.  I’m not even interested in the money we could make from it at this point.  This polymer has the capacity to be game-changing.  What we could do with it…  Like I said, it wouldn’t _just_ be a stealth suit.  It could keep our people safe.  Our _soldiers_.  That’s not something we can ignore.”

Tony didn’t know if this guy was playing him, appealing to his emotions, to the fact he’d loved and lost a soldier who’d died in combat.  Manipulating Tony would be a pretty despicably shitty thing to do (on today especially), but as Tony regarded the man before him and his earnest expression, he couldn’t believe Galloway was playing him.  Bruce wouldn’t have let that happen, either.  Still…  “Stark Industries doesn’t exactly deal in defense contracts anymore,” Tony said.

Dave was quick to counter that.  “This isn’t a weapon.  It’s body armor.  The presentation will demonstrate that.  You won’t have any doubt.”  That was a little naïve, but there was no time to argue because he was already thundering onto his next point.  “And there can be civilian uses here as well.  Firefighters.  Police officers.  First responders.  Plus, other applications beyond a suit itself may be limitless.  I just…”  He sighed.  “I have spent my career laboring over the polymer.  I’m so close to finally doing something with it.  It can save lives. I know it can.  All I need is an investor.  Please.  I don’t care about the profit; take it all, just–”

Tony raised his hand to calm the other man before he got even more frantic and flustered.  “It’s alright.  You don’t need to convince me.  I’ll fund you.  And I’ll be there to see the demo.”

Galloway looked so shocked that it seemed like he’d faint from forgetting to breathe.  “Really?  _Really?_   Just like that?”

Tony gave a little grin and a nod.  “Just like that.”

Dave practically melted.  He floundered a second almost comically, a gamut of relief and joy and elation working over his face.  Then he was back to wildly shaking Tony’s hand.  “Oh.  _Oh._ Thank you, Mr. – Tony!   Thank you, thank you, thank you!  You have no idea what an opportunity like this means.  You won’t regret it, I assure you.”

 _Shake my hand any harder and I’ll regret it already._   Tony smiled, though, and glanced at Bruce, who looked pretty surprised himself this had worked out so easily.  It did seem rather impulsive of him.  Part of it was certainly the day, and reason was two-fold.  He wanted to get the meeting over with, first, but he was also feeling generous.  Moreover, if this polymer could better protect soldiers and first responders, better help SHIELD or the military deal with threats and dangers, it was well worth the few millions of dollars of funding he’d need to spend to get it off the ground.  Something that successful would get snatched up by the government or another defense contractor.  Protecting people was a noble cause, _Steve’s cause,_ and it was something else Tony could do to help this world and be the good man Steve had always said he was.  It seemed fitting that he should change this guy’s life on the anniversary of the day his life changed.  He’d consider it a favor to Bruce and payment for not helping with Galloway’s issues last year.

Dave looked totally stoked, finally releasing Tony’s hand and clasping his own together.  “So what do we do now?  Not that I’m asking that we _do_ anything now.  Our lab is still mostly intact, though, and I’d like to keep the people we have on staff, if that’s okay.  Whatever you think.”  He blushed furiously and pushed his glasses up higher on his nose.  “God, I’m making a jerk of myself, right?”

Bruce laughed, clasping Dave on the shoulder.  “We’ve all been there, Dave.  When you’re in that deep, new money to fund a project is sadly like the breath of life.”

Tony smiled good-naturedly.  “Just send your data and tech specs over.  I’ll give you some contacts in R&D.”

“Uh…”  Dave genuinely looked bothered about that.  “Actually, this is going to make me sound like even more of a jerk, but I’d prefer it if I could deal directly with you?”  Tony frowned at that mostly out of confusion, but Dave took it as disgust and scrambled to explain himself.  “It’s not that I don’t trust your company.  I’m sure everyone who works for you is great.  I just…”  He sighed again.  “Three years ago one of our satellite labs at CalTech was hacked.  Someone got in and stole everything, our data and designs and test results.  _Everything._ ”

“Jesus,” Bruce said.  “You ever find out who did it?”

Dave shrugged helplessly.  “No.  The FBI thought the hackers were located in China, but they were never able to track them down.  We kept an eye out for our designs showing up on the internet or in academic circles.  Defense companies, too.  When a couple years went by and there was no sign of them anywhere, we figured whoever took them probably didn’t know what to do with what they had.  The FBI told us a lot of the time hackers just steal for the sake of stealing.”

“Still, that had to be scary,” Bruce commented, shaking his head at it.

“Wasn’t a walk in the park, I’ll tell you that much,” Dave agreed.  “There’s definitely a sense of violation that strikes you hard when you’re a victim of theft like that.”  Tony knew that all too well.  “But that’s why I’d like to show you the suit on our own turf, if you don’t mind.  That’s why I didn’t bring it here.  If I’d known you’d be so open and–”

“Easy?” Tony said, teasing just a little.

Dave gave a nervous smile.  “We’ll still hold the presentation.  I’d love for you to come watch it.  You are not going to believe what the Chameleon is capable of, Tony.  I guarantee you’ll be as excited about this as I am.”

That didn’t seem possible, and he was too damn exhausted to even think about it.  Smiling a little, he clasped Dave’s shoulder.  “I hate to cut this short, but I really need to get going.”  Dave scrambled, clearly worrying again that he’d done something to affront Tony, but Tony shook his head and forced his smile to be more genuine.  “Just a long day.  Bruce can give you my direct numbers, okay?  I look forward to hearing from you more about this.  Send all the information on the demo, and I’ll see you there.”  He gave Dave a final pat and headed out of the lab.

He barely made it a few steps down the hallway before Bruce was following him with his folder.  “Tony?  Tony.”  He grabbed Tony’s arm gently and pulled him to a stop.  Tony sighed and acquiesced.  Bruce searched his face, and Tony was too tired to be annoyed.  “That was pretty abrupt.  Both you walking out and deciding to give the guy money without even seeing the polymer in action.”

Tony shrugged.  “What?  You didn’t want me to help him?  I thought that was why you set this up.”

“It is, but I’m kinda surprised you went all in without even seeing the product.”

Another shrug.  “Pepper always says I’m crap at business.  Besides, what does it matter?  Doesn’t cost me much.  And if this guy’s on the level, only good will come from it.”

Bruce seemed fairly content with that.  The worry faded from his eyes a bit.  He pressed the folder into Tony’s chest, and Tony took it wearily.  “Thanks,” Bruce said, soft and genuine.

“Sure.”

“We were going to get dinner.  You want to join us?”  Bruce grinned.  “I’m sure Dave will be bouncing off the walls, but don’t let that dissuade you.”

“No,” Tony replied.  “No, no thanks.  I’m just going to go back to the hotel.  Get some rest.  Like I said, long day.”

Bruce appraised him even more intently, and it was pretty obvious he didn’t buy that excuse at all.  “You sure?”

Yet again, Tony sighed.  Did he really need to explain why he didn’t feel like being terribly sociable right now?  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Now Bruce was the one who exhaled slowly, shaking his head and stepping closer.  “Tell me you’re not going back there to sit alone tonight.”

Pulling away, Tony started down the hall anew.  “Some things never change, Banner,” he said, putting on the best smile he had.  “You worry too much.”

Bruce blew out a breath hard enough to ruffle his hair.  “Tell me, Tony.”

He turned and opened his arms in a show of fake flourish.  “I’m not going back to the hotel to sit alone tonight!” he swore, walking backward.  “Happy?”

“Not really,” Bruce grumbled.

Tony’s grin disappeared the instant he turned back to the long, empty hallway.  _Me neither._

* * *

He ended up back in his hotel, sitting alone.  It wasn’t surprising.   And it wasn’t exactly lying, because lying meant him doing this was bad, something that needed to be covered up, and it wasn’t.  He was okay with it.  He hadn’t had any plans to spend the evening with anyone, so it was fine that no one else was there.  No one was doing him a disservice.  It really was alright.  He wanted to be alone, without someone there reminding him about what today was.  He wanted silence and solitude, work and distractions.  So he got what he wanted.

Only now that he had it, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking.  The quiet was damning, too loud, too painful.  Unbreakable.  He sat at the hotel’s desk, his laptops and computer screens around him, filled with data at which he wasn’t actually looking.  Instead he was leaning back in his chair, staring blankly at the corner of the desk.  Minutes were slipping away, and he didn’t even notice them vanish.  He wasn’t noticing much of anything, though he knew it was all there on the edge of his thoughts.  Like the fact that it had been a year.  Like the fact he hadn’t heard Steve’s voice, seen Steve’s smile, felt Steve’s touch, in a year.  Like the fact he was forgetting the vivid details of the life they’d had.  Like the fact that this, sitting alone in the stillness with his mind static and empty, was becoming the new normal.  None that really sank in.

His phone ringing almost didn’t, either.  He blinked a few times; his vision had gone blurry while he’d blankly stared.  Leaning forward, he grabbed his phone off the table.  “Hello?”

“Tony?”

It was Natasha.  Tony took a deeper breath and let it go, shaking himself even more from his haze.  “Hey, Tash.”

“Just calling to see how you are.”  Tony smiled faintly.  Natasha and Clint were on assignment for SHIELD, running some sort of mission in Azerbaijan.  They’d be back in the States early next week.  She’d been reluctant to go, knowing they’d be away over the anniversary, but international crises did not care about personal timetables.

And Tony didn’t particularly care to be babied.  Once he might have answered more viciously, but she, like everyone else, had done a lot for him the last six months as he’d climbed from the pits of obsession and desperation to where he was now.  Getting angry required too much energy, too, and it just wasn’t worth it.  So he smiled, and it was even fond.  “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Ha ha, Stark,” Clint quipped in the background.  “How was your meeting?”

Their mother hen tendencies knew no bounds.  He’d gotten used to the fact that they somehow constantly seemed to be aware of his day to day schedule.  In the beginning after their so-called “intervention” (it had been an intervention, no doubt it), they’d stuck on him like flies on molasses (or on shit, as he thought during his angrier, more defeatist moments), barring him from his workshop, moving all of the wreckage and files on the attack on the New Venture away from him, finding ways to keep him occupied.  Treating him like an addict who, at any moment, could relapse and sneak another fix.  He’d never been alone, Rhodey and Pepper and the others staying close.  With the aid of the therapist, they’d helped him move on.  Tony was fairly certain JARVIS had been the one to arrange everything and guide the others, and he was sure the AI was still doing the same.  JARVIS was the biggest mother hen of them all.  If he hadn’t known it was physically impossible, he’d truly believe that JARVIS was motivated by guilt for being complicit in what Tony had done.

Tony gave a small smile.  “It went fine.  And I’m fine.  And you don’t need to check in on me.  It’s – what – three in the morning there?”

“Something like that.”  Clint’s voice was twisted up by a yawn.  “So tell us you’re alright so we can get a few z’s before we need to be rolling again.”  That was said casually, but that was how Clint handled tender moments as Tony had learned.  Brushing it off or making light of it or acting like it wasn’t a big deal.  “’Cause I’m pretty wiped out.”

“Alright, then shut up and sleep,” Natasha said with mock irritation in her tone.  “God, you old man.  Running ops with you is such a pain in the ass.”  Tony smiled.  Natasha paused a moment, and Tony could practically hear her drumming up her courage.  “Did you…  Did you go?”

Tony exhaled slowly.  So much for trying not to think about this.  “Yeah,” he said.

She didn’t respond right away.  Then there was a relieved sigh.  “Good.”

That was about all Tony was willing to say.  Anything else was too much and too difficult to deal with right now.  All the sudden the silence that had seemed burdensome before would be welcomed.  “I went.  And I really am fine, guys.  You don’t need to worry about me.  I’m just taking it easy tonight.”

“You’re alone there?” Natasha asked.

 _So much for not worrying._   “Yeah, but it’s _fine._   I kinda want to be alone, no offense.”  Tony sighed, leaning forward and rubbing his forehead.  “I just…  I want a minute to just… _not._   Okay?”

Thankfully, Natasha wasn’t off-put.  “Sure, Tony.  We should be back next week if you want to meet up at the Tower.  I think Thor’s back from Asgard.  He’s going to be in New York with Jane at some conference.  Maybe we should plan something together?”

“Sounds great.”

“We’ll see you then.  Take care.”

“Yep.”

The line went dead.  Tony sighed, dropping his hands into his lap.  He willed his feelings to return to relative complacency, pushed his brain back to silence and his senses to numbness.  The quiet returned, just as deep and seeming unbreakable as before, just as he wanted, and he let his eyes shut.

But his phone rang again, vibrating in his hand.  Tony groaned, trying to ignore it in vain.  Sighing, he thumbed the screen and lifted it back to his ear, leaning back in the chair again and slumping down a little.  “Yeah?”

“Hi, Tony.”

Pepper this time.  He supposed that only made sense, since he hadn’t talked to her for all of twelve hours.  Somehow her being married to Happy had only increased the time she had at her disposal to watch over him.  Tony wasn’t sure how in the world that had happened, but even more than the other Avengers Pepper was keeping close tabs on him.  She was the one who’d put him in charge of the Green Light Initiative, who’d been steadily managing his schedule again in addition to running the company, who was making sure he was keeping his therapist appointments and eating and sleeping.  He didn’t know how she was doing it to be frank, but he was grateful all the same.

Except for now.  He anticipated the question before she even asked it.  “Yes, I saw Steve’s grave.  Yes, I’m okay.  No, I’m not alone.”  He glanced around the empty hotel room anew.  “JARVIS is with me.”

She sighed.  “Your bots _still_ don’t count.”

“I’m really okay.  I told Banner.  I told Romanoff.  Now I’m telling you.  Really.  It’s fine.  Can’t a guy want to be alone on the anniversary of his husband’s death?”

Another sigh, this one reluctant.  “I suppose.”

“I can take care of myself on occasion,” Tony said, his voice light but not entirely free of admonition.  Still, even if he felt affronted now, that didn’t negate the fact that he’d nearly blown up a part of a foreign city in his completely irrational and irresponsible hunt for Steve.  She was right to be concerned.  They all were.  “I’m just going to order some room service, finish fixing some bugs for Green Light, and call it a night.  I’m trying to keep this night the same as any other night, and you guys continually being on me about it is making that hard.”

“It’s not any other night, Tony,” Pepper quietly reminded.  Anger prickled through Tony at that.  He so rarely got angry nowadays; it just didn’t seem worth the effort.  He did now because what she said brought a million unpleasant memories right to the forefront.  Wailing into Steve’s clothes in their closet was at the top, sobbing himself to sleep in there because the thought of laying down in their bed made him physically ill.  It was still a struggle to do that sometimes, even with sleeping meds and anti-depressants.  “It’s alright to let that in.”

“I’m not in denial, Pep.  Really.  I just want to take it easy.  And I have work to do.”

He could veritably hear her worrying.  Thankfully, she didn’t press it further.  “Actually I didn’t call just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” he chided.

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to come out to Malibu for the presentation and press conference on Monday.”

Suddenly he _wished_ she’d just called to hound him about not spending the night alone.  He winced and shook his head though she couldn’t see it.  “No.  Come on.  I already told you last week that I didn’t want to do the public shit for this.  No press tours.  No presentations.  No nothing.”

“Tony, you’re still the owner of the company.  This is a _major_ business event, essential to Stark Industries’ new direction.  I know you want to take a backseat and let me handle everything, but you designed the arc reactor in the first place.”

“Actually my dad did,” Tony grumped.

Pepper wasn’t going to be dissuaded.  “Well, you made it work.  You turned it into something amazing.  You built Stark Tower and demonstrated to the world that clean energy was possible.  And you’ve been the driving force behind Green Light for the past six months.  If you hadn’t stepped in, R&D wouldn’t have made the deadline.”  She was failing to mention that she was the one who’d told him to step in, replacing his obsession with looking for Steve with a nobler (and less publicly distressing) goal.  “I really think it’s appropriate for you to be there.”

“It’s not about it being appropriate,” Tony returned, trying to keep his emotions under control.  This was all it took – the _threat_ of a public appearance – to shake his already tenuous hold on himself.

“I know what it’s about.  It’s about getting up in front of everyone and letting them see you and ask questions.  We’ll keep the audience on task and the press conference under control.  There won’t be any mention of anything you don’t want to talk about.”

That was a bit of a bullshit, and Tony knew it.  There was only so much Pepper could do to control the reporters at these things.  They were there to ask questions, and while she could request they be decent human beings instead of jackals, she couldn’t force that.  Nobody was talking much about Captain America’s death anymore, at least not like they had been.  Neither were they going on about Iron Man’s search efforts worldwide.  However, none of the questions that had been posed months ago about _why_ Tony had done what he’d done had ever been answered.  SHIELD had covered it all up.  There was no guarantee people wouldn’t try to get those answers now if presented the opportunity to ask.  The thought of being up there, exposed and open and vulnerable, of being in the public eye for the first time since Steve’s funeral, of having to explain his behavior when he’d been so deep in the throes of depression and denial…

“Tony.”  Pepper’s voice was soft in his ear.  “It’s not just about living day to day.  That’s important, but there’s more to it.  There’s rebuilding your life.”

Tony closed his eyes.  His therapist had been telling him this, too.  Functioning on autopilot wasn’t enough, not in the long term.  Tony was living in a dull, gray world where feelings were muted and things were safe but limited.  He needed to _do_ things again, reclaim the spirit he’d once had, put color back into his life.  He needed to go out when the others asked and get back in Iron Man and fight and lead people.  He didn’t feel ready to embrace that.  Sure, he’d moved on from Steve’s death enough to get to this point, but being active again?  A presence in the world again?  That was another tremendous step, and he wasn’t sure he could do it.  Even more than before, _that_ felt like leaving his old life – leaving _Steve_ – behind.  “I – I don’t know.  I just…”

“Please.  Green Light is your baby, and you deserve to see it fly.”

That was true enough.  Steve had always been so supportive of his ideas, this one included.  The second he thought that, he felt better about it.  “Alright,” he said, trying to make himself sound surer.  “When is it again?”

“Monday,” Pepper replied.  Her tone was light and so relieved.  “Presentation’s at one.  Press conference at three.  Then the company is throwing a reception at five.  I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“O-okay,” Tony managed.  He was anxious and nervous just thinking about it.  He was excited, too.  He couldn’t deny that.  Getting up and talking to people about science and engineering?  That would be fun, somehow constructive and familiar he could do.  He could handle this.

Pepper wanted to make sure.  “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

She was nothing but thrilled.  “You sure you don’t want me to send the jet out to you?  You could come spend the weekend with Happy and me.  You’re always welcome.”

“And be a third-wheel with all your lovey-doveying?  You guys are still in the honeymoon phase, and I can only handle so many heart eyes.  I’ll stay here.  It’s fine.  It really is.”

Pepper was obviously pleased enough with his agreeing to the Green Light launch activities because she let it go without a fight.  “Alright.  If you change your mind–”

“I’ll call,” Tony said.  “Night, Pep.”

“Goodnight.”

Down went the phone again.  Tony groaned, tossing it to the table and closing his eyes.  “I swear to God, Steve,” he murmured, tipping his head back until it was resting against the back of the chair.  “You fuck up once and they are all over you.”

The silence didn’t answer.  That was alright.  Tony let himself drift again, not really thinking about anything.  He never used to get comfort from being idle, but it had its niceness now.  Maybe he would skip dinner, skip work, and just go to bed.  He didn’t want company, no, but being alone…  Well, now after experiencing it and being hounded about it, that wasn’t what he wanted either.  So sleep it was.  Sleep had the advantage of letting time pass quickly.  When he woke up tomorrow, it’d be a year and one day since Steve died, and he could go from there.

Only before he even willed himself up and out of the desk chair, there was a knock at the door.  “God, what the hell…”  He grumbled his way to his feet and out to the front of the suite.  He opened the door and found Rhodey there.

“Come on.  We’re going out,” Rhodey said.  He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.  “I got tickets to the game tonight.”

Tony stared in stupefaction.  Apparently being idle had shut his brain down more than he realized.  “What?”

“Out.  Dinner.  Football.  Thursday night.  Private suite at the stadium.  We missed a little, but no one’s scored yet, so it’s cool.”  Rhodey looked him over, trying to seem nonchalant, like this day could just be ignored.  “It’ll be fun.”

“I hate football,” Tony replied after a long beat of silence.

“That’s because you never had anyone teach you its finer points.”

“Steve tried.  If he couldn’t make me like it, I doubt you’ll succeed.”  Tony gave a weak smile.  “No offense.”

“None taken.”  Rhodey gave a grin of his own.  He was obviously waiting for Tony to turn him down, waiting and preparing for a struggle.  “Come on.  I don’t want to see you mope here by yourself all night.”

“I wasn’t going to…”  Tony was a little too beaten down to care anymore.  What did it matter?  “Fine.”

* * *

Coming back to life was more difficult than Tony anticipated.  After the night out with Rhodey, his first, he realized, in ages, he felt more inclined to at least attempt to be social.  Apparently Rhodey was on leave a few days before War Machine was being deployed to the Middle East to quell the latest unrest there, so they spent the weekend hanging out together.  Staying motivated to keep active was difficult.  Rhodey seemed to have an endless of things they could do in the area, restaurants and games and shows and the like.  A year of living life as a recluse meant Tony was behind on pretty much everything from movies to music to current events, so there was plenty to catch up on.  It was a weird role reversal.  Back in the day, it had always been Tony with the unending social agenda, parties and bars and clubs and the like.  Now Rhodey was dragging him.  It was alright.  Eased him back into being a person and not a drone.  He wasn’t prepared even to entertain the idea of going anywhere where any sort of hooking up or dating could occur, and Rhodey didn’t even mention it.  They did “bro” things, and that was hard enough.

Then it was Monday, and Tony was flying out to Malibu from Virginia.  This would actually work out nicely, since Galloway wanted to demo his new tech Tuesday morning in Santa Monica.  He’d called to set that up almost instantly according to JARVIS.  Therefore, Tony could kill two birds with one stone on this trip, _and_ he actually managed to make his schedule himself.  Hurray for small victories.

At any rate, Pepper was there to pick him up, quick to offer up a grateful smile and a loving hug.  They drove out to the mansion, where Tony took a couple hours to change for the day and gather himself.  Pepper went over everything, the speech she’d written for him at the presentation (which would be available via teleprompter as well), what to expect from the press conference, the sorts of people that would be in attendance.  Government big wigs and energy buyers and investors and policy makers.  _No pressure._   She had taken care of everything, though, so all he really needed to do was follow the script and stay on point.  The reporters had already been instructed that questions regarding Steve were strictly off limits and anyone using this opportunity for a scoop on Tony Stark’s personal life would be ejected from the premises.  He was as protected as he could be, and he knew that.  So this would be alright.  He knew that, too.

He didn’t feel it, though.  He’d stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, straightening his suit vest and then working on his tie, trying to ease his nerves as she watched.  Inside his stomach was twisted tight in anxious knots like he’d never done this before.  The Stark Expo was multiple times larger than this, and he’d spoken there many times with no script and far fewer cares.  This was pretty pathetic.  He kept flubbing the knot of his tie, too, messing it up so Pepper stood from the bed and came over, taking the silk band and folding up his collar to do it for him.  “I’m really proud of you,” she said as she worked.

Tony felt weird hearing that.  Weird and ashamed.  “Nothing to be proud of.”

“Yes, there is,” she softly argued.  With the knot in place, she smoothed the tie and then his dress shirt around it before buttoning up his vest.  “You went through something extremely traumatic, and you didn’t let it defeat you.”

“Came damn close,” he muttered, dropping his gaze.

Pepper grasped his chin and lifted his face gently.  “You didn’t let it defeat you,” she said again.  “You did what you always do, Tony.  You worked through it.  Picked yourself back up and fixed it.  Steve would be proud, too.”

That should have rankled him.  Would have six months ago.  Now…  “Thanks,” he said genuinely.

Pepper smiled, nodded, planted a sisterly kiss on his cheek.  “Come on.  Let’s go wow them.”

They went.  Happy drove their limo, just like old times, and took them to the Stark Industries campus and toward one of the massive, state-of-the-art presentation halls.  People were already lining up at the entrance, the press and the important guests, but Happy was already prepared to take them around to the rear of the building.  Security was assembled to keep everyone away as the car pulled up and they went inside.

Tony’s nervousness plagued him all through the lead-up to the presentation.  There was a lot of activity around him, aids and workers and security and Pepper directing it all, but he stood in a daze, not really thinking of what he had to say, not going over his speech in his mind.  Instead, he was remembering the last time he’d done something like this.  It had been at the Stark Expo four years ago, right after he and Steve had gotten married now that he thought about it.  Steve had been there of course, standing with Pepper just offstage and watching as Tony opened the Expo with excitement and flourish and dazzled the crowd.  For the life of him, Tony couldn’t remember what he’d been talking about, what the focus of the Expo had been that year.  He just remembered Steve’s smile, Steve’s bright red blush of embarrassment when Tony had dragged him on stage to the delight of the crowd.  They’d argued (well, not argued – lovingly bickered) about it all day, that Tony had wanted Steve to kick off the Expo with him and Steve hadn’t wanted the attention of the tens of thousands of people in attendance.  Well, Tony hadn’t given him a choice, and he hadn’t hesitated at all after pulling Steve onto center stage to kiss him in front of everybody.  Talk about a media sensation.  Steve hadn’t forgiven him for days, but Tony knew he’d been secretly happy and proud over the huge and thunderous cheer that had gone through the crowd.

“Tony?”  Pepper touched his shoulder, pulling him from the memory.  He blinked a couple times, trying to gather himself.  She smiled.  “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he assured, snapping himself out of it.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m ready.”

Pepper gestured to the stage entrance.  “Then let’s do it.”

Surprisingly, the second he stepped out on that stage to the applause of the audience, he felt better.  The butterflies in his belly fluttered away, and the haze of anxiety cleared from his mind.  He stood there, looking over the crowd, feeling oddly confident in the ensuing silence.  They were watching him, but he couldn’t see them, not their faces.  They were nameless, too, meaningless in a way, and what they thought of him didn’t matter beyond his expertise in technology, beyond his role as the head of Stark Industries and the founder of Project Green Light.  Emboldened by that, he took a deep and began to speak.

It went extremely well.  He was clear, convincing, and the crowd laughed where it was supposed to and applauded quite often.  The presentation was about forty-five minutes, and by the time it was done, the people in the auditorium were giving him an excited standing ovation.  Tony exited the stage with a slight wave, and Pepper was there to embrace him firmly, thrilled it had gone off without a hitch.  About a dozen other people were shaking his hand and congratulating him on the Green Light Initiative and how it could change energy consumption worldwide.  He accepted the praise, smiling and feeling almost high with the accomplishment.  His entourage bustled him out, and the next thing he knew he was heading to a different section of the sprawling campus for the press conference.

He was euphoric enough from the presentation that he didn’t feel so daunted about the gaggle of reporters in front of him.  Many of them had come from the presentation, so that helped put him at ease.  He could do this, too.  So he sat at the center of the table, with a microphone right in front of him, flanked by Pepper and SI’s press corps, and waited for the onslaught.

It came, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared, either.  The questions were entirely focused on the Green Light Initiative.  Of course, they ranged in scope from the science behind it to the impact on SI’s stock to the minutia of getting a new nationwide energy network off the ground.  It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, though, and the answers came easy.  As the press conference went on, he even found himself getting braver, cracking a few impromptu jokes and taking more of the questions on himself.  It was oddly nice, to be out there.  Comfortable.  Not what he expected at all.

No, what he _had_ expected didn’t come until later, until the reception.  It was a lovely, lively affair, a cocktail party that was mostly for the company but with a few other guests there as well.  Tony was feeling relaxed enough that he was okay with Pepper leaving his side, which was fine at first.  She was in her element, leading his company with grace and professionalism, and he felt a little bit like dead weight at her side.  Mingling with his employees wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do right now.

But mingle he had to.  Someone came right up to him within seconds of Pepper departing.  She was a woman about his age, comely, a tad matronly.  Her eyes were brown, and there was a mess of frizzy blond hair pulled back from her face with clips.  She seemed tentative, and Tony watched her walk across the room, knowing she was heading straight for him and feeling like a deer in headlights.  “Mr. Stark?”

Tony gave up on trying to catch Pepper’s eyes so she would know to come rescue him.  Sighing quietly, he submitted to the inevitable.  “Hello,” he greeted.

The lady had a glass of wine.  She looked like she hadn’t had a sip.  In fact, she looked as uncomfortable as Tony felt.  “I’m Janet Miller.”  That meant nothing to him, and she smiled faintly at his probably obvious lack of recognition.  “I work in your accounting department in the satellite office in Houston.”

That was a long way to travel for a cocktail party.  “Oh,” he said, even though that still didn’t really mean much of anything to him.  He had tens of thousands of employees worldwide.  “Nice to meet you.”  He was kind of hoping she was the sort to want a quick moment to bask in his celebrity or whatever before moving on.

Nope.  “I wanted to take the chance to speak with you.  Your office wasn’t responding to my requests over the last couple months.  I know I’m just an accountant, but I thought…  Well, what I want to say to you is important.”  He tried in vain again to catch Pepper’s attention, but she didn’t notice.  _Oh, God._

What the woman actually said next took him completely by surprise.  “My husband worked for Roxxon.”  Shocked, Tony turned and gave her his full attention.  She gave a sad smile and a bob of her head.  “For fifteen years.  He was an engineer.”  Christ, now he really knew where this was going.  He went stiff, cold suddenly, afraid of what this woman came to say.  “He was on the New Venture when the pirates took it.  He, um…  He was one of the people the pirates took to the generator room to get it open for them.  He was one of the people who…”  Tony already knew what.  “Who they used to lure Captain America down.  They…”  Her voice shook a little.  “They shot him.”

Images came unbidden, things Tony hadn’t thought about in months.  The hostages dead on the floor of the generator room.  Steve rushing in, desperate to find them and save them only to see he was too late.  Tony tried not to let himself remember further.

Miller sighed, gathering herself.  “Roxxon released some of the audio of the attack during the Congressional hearings a few weeks back.”  Tony vaguely remembered those going on.  They weren’t so much about addressing fault as they were about better understanding what had happened and placing stronger safeguards to prevent similar attacks in the future.  SHIELD had protected Tony from needing to testify and had prevented some of the information from proliferating.  Normally Tony wouldn’t have liked that, but in this case, he was glad the footage of Steve’s last seconds alive hadn’t been spread all over the world.

Clearly this woman had heard some of those last seconds, though.  She hesitated again, like she wasn’t certain if what she was about to tell him would be welcomed.  That made Tony nervous all over again.  He didn’t think he could stand to hear any criticism of Steve right then (or ever).  Again, though, that wasn’t what she said.  “I heard what your – what Captain America did.  How he went down there to rescue my husband and the others when he knew it was dangerous.”

Tony met her gaze.  Where there hadn’t seemed to be anything similar between them before, there was this.  Love for a husband who was dead because of those monsters.  A commonality that bound them together despite his status, his celebrity, his money or power or anything.  When it came to this – _we both lost the men we loved_ – they were entirely the same.

Janet smiled weakly.  “I…  I don’t want to tell you that I’m sorry.  I know how little that means.  How little it helps.  I’ve been told that so many times.”  Her voice broke, and she bit her lip and looked down to hide tears.  Tony grasped her shoulder gently.  The same things were in her eyes that he often saw in his own in the mirror, the same emotions in her voice that he heard in his own whenever his strength wavered.  She did know _exactly_ how it was.  She gathered herself with a shivery sigh and turned back to him with watery eyes.  “I don’t know if I have it in me to say it, anyway.”  Her smile was wavering.

“I know,” Tony said.

“So I wanted to tell you something else, for what it’s worth.”  She took another deeper breath, and she managed to hold herself together.  “I just wanted to say thank you.  I can’t tell Captain Rogers, so I want to tell you.  Thank you for fighting for us.  I…  I know every time he did, he gave everything he had, did everything he could.  And I know you have, too.  So thank you.”

He didn’t know what to say.  He truly didn’t.  There was nothing but sincerity in her eyes, nothing but compassion and truth.  Despite his hesitation, he took both her hands and squeezed them gently.  “Thank you,” he murmured.  “That…  It means a lot.”  It really did.

She was pleased with that, squeezing his hands a bit.  “Been a long year, hasn’t it?”

 _In so many ways._   “Yeah.”

“Sometimes…”  She paused, trying to keep her composure again and looking around to give herself a second.  “Sometimes it’s really a struggle to be satisfied with what little remains.”

He knew how that was.  They stood for a moment more, understanding each other in a way few others could now.  Eventually she let him go and donned a softer smile.  “Well, I should get going,” she said.  She wiped at her cheeks.  “I don’t want to take up any more of your evening.”

Tony tipped his head to the party.  “Yeah, I should go… represent.  Or whatever.”  She seemed appreciative of the casual levity, grinning easily with her face drier and her composure back.  “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to call.  I’ll let my staff know that you go right to the top of the list.”

“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Stark.  Thanks for your time,” she replied.  Another nice smile graced her face.  “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She walked away.  Happy came right up, passing her as he did, suspicion in his glance.  He stopped at Tony’s side.  “Was she bothering you, boss?”

“No,” Tony quickly replied.  “No, no.  Just… Someone in the same boat.”

“Huh?”

“I’m fine,” Tony said brightly, clasping Happy on the shoulder.  “Go take care of Pepper.”

The other man worriedly appraised him a moment longer.  “You and I both know she doesn’t need anyone to do that.”  Tony smiled but didn’t respond, and that had Happy sighing and heading back to the party.  Tony turned to the crowd and watched Janet disappear among the guests.  He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, but he wasn’t feeling so okay anymore.  It took a few seconds for him to process that, that the high of the successful day was fading.  That he was… riled.  Uncertain.  _He gave everything he had, did everything he could.  And so did I.  I did everything I could…_

_Didn’t I?_

He winced at his thoughts.  He _knew_ he was at peace with it, with everything that had been lost when those pirates had attacked the oil platform.  He knew that.  _A long year.  One day at a time._   But that peace suddenly seemed brittle.  He ached with how old and weary he felt, lonely all over again, inadequate, and before he knew what he was doing, he was going back to the mansion.  Home as much as home could be nowadays.

Only home didn’t seem any warmer.  It definitely wasn’t less lonely.  Tony stood in the empty living room, listening to the silence.  It was late enough that the sun was starting to set, casting golden light across the Pacific Ocean and into the massive windows.  The sight was calm, tranquil, pretty really.  Tony watched the distant waves crest a moment, pearly, white rolls on a silvery sea.  It should have inspired peace, but it didn’t.  It made him think of the ocean beneath the New Venture rig, deep and dark like a tomb.

It all came back at him in a wave.  The attack.  The generator room.  The dead hostages and Steve fighting his way down and the pirate with the detonator.  The explosion.  The rig burning, and Steve burning with it.

_I did everything I could._

The urge to fall back into it all was strong, so strong he was wavering on his feet.  He hadn’t felt like this in six months.  But he was stronger, better than his grief and his anger and his fear.  Better than his obsessions.  He wasn’t alone.  He had help, people around him and his friends and family.  He wasn’t going to slip.  He was moving on.  He promised Steve he’d be okay.  He promised.  So he had to be.

Trying to find some consolation in that, he went on.  Went to their – _his_ – bedroom.  Got changed.  Brushed his teeth.  Turned down the bed and climbed in and tried not to notice the huge, empty spot next to him or how completely silent the bedroom was.  Tried not to think about another day spent alone.  Tried to be satisfied with what remained.  Tried to focus on tomorrow.

Because tomorrow it would be a year _and_ a day since Steve died.

_One more day down._

He tried to tell himself that meant something, but if it did, it didn’t feel like much.  It didn’t matter, anyway.  _It is what it is._ He sighed and went to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I'm going to stick some warnings up front here for this chapter and all the ones following it for a while: warnings for descriptions of medical horror, a great deal of medical experimentation without consent, and some pretty nasty dehumanization and medical/science-related torture. Our poor babies. I think a lot of you have figured out where this is going, so you probably know why I put the warnings there. But there they are so no one gets blind-sided.
> 
> Alright, thanks for reading!

He overslept.

Cursing, Tony stumbled into the shower and rushed through getting himself ready.  He was supposed to be at the demo at ten o’clock, and it was already nine.  As he raced through shaving and dressing, he kept reminding himself he didn’t need to do this.  He was funding Galloway’s project, covering the price for the Chameleon or whatever they were calling their magic polymer, so the guy could damn well wait for him to be ready.  But he could practically hear Pepper nagging him about keeping his appointments, particularly when millions of dollars were involved, so he put some gas into it.

Nova Engineering was a small, bland-looking establishment that stuck out like a sore thumb so close to the boardwalks, piers, and beaches of Santa Monica.  Because he was running late, he ended up driving himself, and he parked his Audi in a garage attached to the building, not sure where the hell he was supposed to be going.  Thankfully a pretty, young woman with glasses and auburn hair was waiting for him in the building’s lobby.  “Mr. Stark, I’m so glad you could make it!”  She was a bundle of energy, practically bouncing as she led him down to the labs, rambling excitedly about what a huge impact he was having on Dave’s work.  Tony wasn’t really paying attention.  The place was the standard sort of research establishment.  The halls were white tiles, and the walls were taupe.  There were offices and labs left and right, and everything looked a little outdated and cluttered, like the research team here hadn’t had solid funding.  Hence why Tony was here.  He put on a happy mask and tried to seem interested and not exhausted.

The assistant led him down via elevator to the lower labs.  Dave was anxiously waiting at the door, and he yet again nearly collapsed in relief at seeing him arrive.  “Tony, hi,” he greeted breathlessly.  He shook Tony’s hand too hard, like he was grasping a lifeline or something.  “I was getting worried.”

“Sorry,” Tony said.  He didn’t offer an explanation.  He wasn’t that late, only about fifteen minutes.  And while he could appreciate that Dave’s whole project was riding on his support, he could be late if he wanted.  Dave didn’t need to know how hard a time he’d had last night with shutting his damn brain off.  It wasn’t the first time since Manila that he’d had trouble with battling the urge to delve back into his investigation into Steve’s death.  Truly it was like an addiction, something his mind was using to help him deal with his pain.  His therapist kept telling him that, that he shouldn’t consider what he’d done as anything constructive beyond him attempting to work through his grief.  The rest of the team and his friends said the same.  He wasn’t sure he bought that, but he knew for certain that obsession hadn’t gotten him anything but pain.  At any rate, he’d been restless last night, sleeping and waking and then sleeping again, tossing and turning, trying to empty his head of his stubborn thoughts and failing until the wee hours of the night.  _A struggle._   Every damn day.

That was neither here nor there right now.  He turned his focus to _this_ day, the present one, like his therapist kept encouraging him to do.  “Show me what you’ve got.”

Galloway took him inside the lab.  It was very white but claustrophobic despite that.  A ton of computers lined the benches, again most outdated and in need of an upgrade.  A few other technicians were there, and they all introduced themselves.  Mostly they were electrical and chemical engineers and biochemists from CalTech and UCLA.  Tony didn’t recognize them and forgot their names instantly.  “We’re so glad you could make it, Mr. Stark,” said one, and he was even less capable of containing his relief than Dave was.  “This is truly, truly an honor.”

“Yes,” added the same young lady who’d brought him down.  “You have _no idea_ how amazing this is.  When Dave told us you were willing to fund Chameleon, it was, like, _minds blown._ ”

Tony was way too tired and crabby to deal with these people.  He just wanted to get this done so he could go back to New York.  He was feeling less and less grounded this far away from the Tower for so long.  He hadn’t been home since last Thursday.  Still, despite his mounting orneriness, he tried to be calm and patient.  “Glad to be of service.”

“Would you like some coffee?  Tea?” the woman asked.

Tony shook his head.  He couldn’t imagine drinking anything brewed in a place like this, and his stomach was already roiling from not having breakfast.  “No, thanks.  Let’s just started, if you don’t mind.  Time’s money.”

With that, the scientists scattered.  Dave stood beside Tony as the others prepared their demo.  “I’m really glad you could make it,” Galloway remarked again.  Tony said nothing, watching in frustration as the others puttered about the room.  “And I really need to apologize.  I, uh, didn’t realize until after you left and Bruce told me last week that the day we met was…”  Tony’s glance was sharper than he wanted.  It happened somewhat automatically.  He was on edge today, moody, and it wasn’t just from the lack of sleep.  For whatever reason, the fact that it had been a year since Steve’s death was really sinking in now since last night.  Grief wasn’t logical, and he wasn’t handling it as well as he thought.

Galloway looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  “I’m very sorry.  I hope you don’t think I was trying to use…  That I was trying to…”

 _Get a fucking hold of yourself._   He wasn’t sure at whom that thought was directed.  “It’s alright.  I don’t.”

Dave nodded like he couldn’t quite believe Tony’s sincerity, like at any moment his funding might up and disappear completely should Tony be offended.  He didn’t seem to detect that _this_ was what was pissing him off, talking about something that was frankly not his business.  “Still I apologize.  I really appreciate you taking the time to talk that day.  And you coming now for that matter.”

Tony tried for a calming breath, tried for a smile, and hoped a little pleasantness could grease the wheels and get this going faster.  “Well, I need to see my investment in action, right?”

Dave smiled, too, before excusing himself from Tony’s side and heading to the lab bench.  He and all the techs started fiddling with something there.  Tony couldn’t quite see what they were doing, but the theatrics were clumsy and not necessary.

After fumbling a couple more seconds, Dave turned around with a gray glove on his right hand.  The fabric was fairly skin tight, and it had a strange texture to it.  Dave’s assistants and co-workers stood back, and Dave held his hand out, palm exposed and directly in front of Tony’s face.  He was grinning broadly now, fully engaged in the demo and nearly vibrating with anticipation.  “Take a look at this.”

Tony stared at the glove.  It was hard not to, with it thrust in front of his eyes.  He frowned a little doubtfully.  It looked like Spandex, although at this distance Tony saw that weird texture was from these miniscule bumps. There were millions of them all over the surface.  “This your magic polymer?”

The other scientists shared glowing, exhilarated smiles, and Dave beamed.  “ _This_ is the Chameleon.”

Tony bit his tongue.  He hadn’t ever read Dave’s prospectus, but it had only been said numerous times now.  And now that he really considered what this was, he’d seen tech like this before.  Developing invisibility gear was difficult, but quite a few people worldwide were trying.  It wasn’t exactly mind-blowing.  “It’s a stealth suit.”

“One possible application.”  Dave flexed his fingers and set his hand back to the table.  The polymer immediately adopted the color and texture of the table beneath it.  “Standard camo.  It can mimic any color and any texture.”  One of the techs brought a few squares and tiles, carpet and stone and other surfaces.  The glove smoothly picked up the properties of each, changing from one to the other flawlessly.  “No pre-programming or setup required.”  Dave held up the glove, currently as rosy as the carpet square he’d touched, and flexed his fingers again.  Immediately the glove vanished.  “In addition to camo, it can produce invisibility.”

Well, this was something more.  Galloway’s hand had _completely_ disappeared.  It was almost as if it wasn’t there at all.  Tony could see straight through it.  The other technologies he’d seen like this hadn’t been _this_ perfect.  There’d always been some flaw with bending the light completely, something that revealed the outline of the item one was trying to shroud or a failing that blurred what lay behind it.  Even the stealth tech on the Avengers quinjet and the helicarrier was limited; it functioned far better when the observer was at a distance.  Small details and mistakes became apparent up close. While mirrors and lenses were common in bigger applications, stealth suit technology basically worked by using particular frequencies of electromagnetic signals to cause the molecules of the polymer to change their properties.  That was the standard approach.  Various companies had been developing similar fabrics for both military and civilian uses.  Even Stark Industries had dabbled in it.  Unfortunately, they’d discovered just as Galloway had, that polymers of these types tended to have issues with performance, and those issues were only compounded by the hefty price tag.  So while this was remarkably cool, he was hesitant to get excited.

Dave was, though.  Grinning, he waved his hand about to show that the illusion continued no matter the background.  “Pretty neat, huh?” he said.

“Impressive,” Tony declared.  It really was.

“That’s not all,” the young woman said with a broad smile.  “Come with us, Mr. Stark.”

Confused, Tony followed them to the rear of the lab space.  There was a fairly large blast chamber there, not graded for testing heavy weapons but strong enough to contain fire and the like.  There was a window alongside one wall, the glass in need of a little cleaning but thick and meant to protect.  Dave and his team led Tony there.  Inside the chamber, it was fairly empty.  Tony saw what he first thought was a person actually in a suit made of the Chameleon polymer, but he realized it was a mannequin.  The form was completely covered in the gray fabric, standing lifelessly in the center of the chamber.  Right across from it, perhaps only ten feet away, was a boxy robot loaded with weaponry.

Dave gestured toward the dummy.  He looked almost giddy.  “This, Mr. Stark.  _This_ is what sets Chameleon apart from other attempts to create stealth suits.  It’s far more than just nifty camouflage or invisibility tech.  It can save lives.”

One of the lab techs was at a computer console next to the window, typing furiously at a keyboard.  For a couple seconds, nothing happened, and Tony didn’t quite follow why everyone seemed so excited.  Then the machine with the arsenal shifted and rolled forward slowly.  An alarm began to wail, loud and rhythmic.  Tony winced, still confused, until he saw the machine load a grenade into a modified RPG launcher on its arm.  “Is that live–”

“Fire in the hole!” someone shouted.

“Clear!”

The grenade clattered to the concrete right in front of the mannequin.  Tony hardly had time to prepare himself before it went off.  The sound was muffled so as not to damage their hearing, but it was still pretty shocking.

Not as shocking as what happened to the suit though.  Tony wasn’t watching too carefully because he hadn’t been ready for it, despite the warning, but he caught enough of it.  There was a flash of light, of smoke, a muted crack of thunder, and when it was over, the mannequin was still standing, completely untouched.

Tony’s mouth was limply open as he stared at the suit, trying to figure out if he’d just seen what he thought he saw.  He could feel the others staring at him, waiting for him to process it and render an opinion.  “Did the suit just…”

“Uh-huh,” the young woman said, glowing with pride.  She nodded to the tech in front of the computer, and the guy typed in some additional commands.  Inside the chamber, the robot swung another arm into place as it rolled even closer to the mannequin.  Tony realized instantly it was some sort of flamethrower, hooked to an internal tank of propane.  It was designed to burn with oxygen and therefore burn hot.

“Clear!” the lab tech hollered again.

This time it was undeniable.  The flamethrower ignited, and a stream of fire blasted at the mannequin.  But it never touched the suit.

The fabric _repelled_ the fire.  The flame bent around glove, not even touching it.  There seemed to be an invisible force field of sorts keeping it at bay.  _Holy hell._   Tony shook his head, eyes wide, breath locked in his chest.  He couldn’t speak.  Couldn’t think.  Couldn’t do anything but stand and stare.

Galloway was positively glowing with pride.  “The polymer is partially polybenzimidazole, which makes it a natural flame retardant, but the really cool thing is, with the right current, the molecules vibrate in a particular way to emit an EM field strong enough to dissipate energy.”  That didn’t seem possible.  Tony watched in stupefaction as seconds slipped away and the suit remained untouched.  “We’ve been able to repel thermal energy, as you see here, and up to a few thousand degrees Fahrenheit.  We’ve also managed to dissipate kinetic energy to some extent like the grenade, enough to lessen mortal bullet wounds and reduce crushing injuries.”  Nearly giddy with his invention’s performance, Dave laughed a bit, raising his hands and gesturing at the scene before them.  “And watch this.”

The tech pressed another few keys, and the force field _moved._   It was only visible because the edge of the fire, where the spray of it struck the field itself, was pushed back a few feet.  It was incredible.  “We can manipulate the field, shape it to enclose other things within a few meter radius around the suit.  The Chameleon could protect other people like this.  Granted, it’s limited right now, and it drains the power something serious, but imagine.  Imagine a firefighter saving someone or a soldier using this to shield a fellow soldier.”  Dave grinned in wonderment at his own invention.  “The Chameleon is lightweight, breathable, and flexible.  It’s safe and powerful.  It could be the next big thing in personal protective gear.  The military applications alone are staggering.  With a suit made of this, our troops could be all but invisible.  It provides both excellent stealth coverage and camouflage while keeping the wearer safe.  It could change warfare.  Never seen anything like it before, huh, Mr. Stark?”

That was clearly rhetorical, only Tony had.  _He had seen this before._   When the force field expanded, when the flames hit it, when the fire struck the energy barrier keeping it at bay… the light and heat was bent, deflected, _refracted._

And it turned into waves.

They weren’t very big at all, hardly noticeable at all as they radiated away from the point of contact between the Chameleon’s energy shield and the fire, but they were definitely there.  Little random swirls like eddies in a current.  Like some sort of interference.  _Like distortion that was not actually distortion._

 _Oh, my God._   Tony could hardly breathe.  His heart stopped in his chest, and his nerves all felt like they were misfiring and burning him.  Vaguely he knew the lab crew behind him was talking, proudly proclaiming the greatness of their visionary work, but he couldn’t focus on _anything_ other than those waves.  They’d haunted his sleep for a year, been the source of his hellish misery for six months while he’d searched.  They’d _tormented_ him endlessly.  And somehow, by fate or by God’s good graces, here he was, a year after the fact, _staring at the answer._

A jolt of adrenaline rushed over him, and he ripped around.  “Didn’t you say it was stolen?”

The people around him were so intent on congratulating themselves that they were completely taken aback by the question.  Dave looked at him like he’d sprouted an additional head or something.  “Wh-what?”

Tony was breathless with realization.  “The suit.  Didn’t you tell me that your research on it was stolen?”

“Ye-yeah.  Yes.  A few years ago.  But there was never any sign of–”

“From CalTech?”

Dave seemed deeply confused and increasingly worried.  “Yes.  Did you find someone else with it?  Wait…  You can’t think that we’d steal – Tony?  Tony!  Mr. Stark, where are you–”

Tony was already running out of the lab.  He was running as fast as he could, bypassing the elevator and taking the steps, tearing down the hallways with people gawking at him, bursting through doors and thundering across the lobby and sprinting into the parking garage.  He reached his car, the system detecting his approach and unlocking it for him.  Wrenching open the Audi’s driver side door, he tossed himself behind the wheel.  The car came to life, and he threw it into reverse, rapidly pulling out before shifting to drive and _gunning it._

“JARVIS!”

“Sir, what is happening?” the AI asked.

“It’s Stone!”  Tony swerved to avoid a car coming at him as he took a left turn way too fast and ran the light.  “It’s goddamn Ty Stone!”

“Sir?”

“Steve’s not dead!  Ty Stone kidnapped him!”  Another car blew its horn at him, but he didn’t slow down at all, cutting the guy off to speed toward the expressway.  Tony gripped the wheel tighter, pushing the Audi faster and not giving a shit if he was breaking the speed limit.  “Christ, how could I not have seen this before?  _Goddamn it!”_

Naturally, JARVIS was confused off his ass.  “Sir, wait.  Slow down.  Slow down!  How did you reach this conclusion?”

“Just get everything from the Tower out here to my workshop!  Everything we have!  Files on the New Venture and all our research and the video!  I need the video!  That distortion isn’t distortion at all!”

“Sir?”

Tony narrowed his eyes, terrified and determined and furious all at once.  “It’s a person.”

* * *

For the second time that year, it was a minor miracle Tony got back to the mansion without killing himself or getting arrested.  He ran from the garage as soon as he put the car in park, and JARVIS opened the doors for him.  The whole ride back (which he’d managed in twenty minutes because he’d driven like a reckless maniac), he’d explained to JARVIS what he’d seen in Galloway’s lab.  JARVIS’ initial confusion turned to wariness as he’d gone on, but even the AI hadn’t been able to deny the significance of the discovery.  He was trying more adamantly to dissuade Tony from the conclusions to which he’d leapt, though.  “If the distortion on the video is being caused by Doctor Galloway’s stealth suit, I fail to see how Mr. Stone factors into this situation.”

Tony felt fucking sick just thinking about it, but he was furious enough that slowing down or stopping wasn’t even close to an option.  He took the steps down to his workshop by two, nearly tripping a couple of times he was so frantic.  A sudden sweat was leaving him shivery and cold.  He was right about this.  _He knew it._   “I want you to run through _everything_ we have on both of them.  Ty and Galloway.  Everything there is.  If they ever pissed in the same bathroom at an airport, I want to fucking know about it.”  He wrenched open the glass doors to the workshop almost before the system recognized him and let him in.  “Ty or someone working for him kidnapped Steve using that suit!”

“Yes, I concede that the suit, or at least what you told me of it, could explain what we perceive on the video,” JARVIS began as Tony rushed to his desk.  He pushed the clutter of tools and tablets aside and woke the system up.  The Stark Industries logo disappeared.  All the data he’d asked JARVIS to copy from New York was ready and waiting.  Tony typed frantically a second.  “But surely you do not believe Doctor Galloway was involved in Captain Rogers’ death!”

 _Disappearance._ He was more certain of that than ever, but he was too frantic to correct JARVIS.  “I don’t.  I think Ty pinched the plans for the polymer and the suit from Galloway.”

“You think–”

“Ty steals.  That’s what he fucking does.  ViaStone’s been involved in a bunch of patent litigation and IP disputes over the years.”

“That is not uncommon with large companies and hardly definitive proof–”

“No.  He did it to me at MIT, and I bet he did it to Galloway, too.  Galloway collaborates with people at CalTech.  Stone’s alma mater is CalTech.  That can’t be a coincidence.”

“It very well could be.”

He didn’t have the patience for the usual debate.  “Just work through it!  These two are connected, I guarantee it.”  Data immediately began to flow across some of the monitors as JARVIS started searching for a connection.  “Show me the footage from the New Venture.”

JARVIS hesitated, probably wondering if this wasn’t simply Tony falling down the slope again.  Tumbling back down into his obsessions.  Collapsing into denial after six months of working through his grief and laboring toward acceptance.  Tony knew JARVIS felt responsible for what had happened before (if an AI could experience such things as guilt – JARVIS did a damn good job emulating it, at any rate), so this was a likely akin to him letting Tony slip.  Enabling him.

This wasn’t the time or place.  Tony lost his temper.  “Come on, J!  You weren’t there!  You didn’t see it!  Can you just trust me?  Please!”

He could almost feel the AI surrender, and the video appeared on his computer screen.  Tony took a clear glass pad and copied it by holding it close to the monitor before flinging the data to the new holopad he’d had installed here since he’d moved the other to the Tower.  The system churned a second or two, during which Tony walked to the center of the pad, and then the video appeared around him.  The animation JARVIS had so painstakingly created almost a year ago.  It was… new and familiar all at once.  The time between now and the last time he’d seen it had dulled the sharpness of the awful details, but it hadn’t quieted the feelings they elicited at all.  Tony’s gut immediately clenched and he felt sick and dizzy all over again.  But he didn’t stop, didn’t move as Steve charged right through him, staring at the pirate with the detonator.  The words echoed through the room, the ones Tony had long memorized.  Steve’s voice.  _“You don’t want to do this.  A lot of innocent people are going to die if you do.”_

And the pirate’s.  _“Only one that we care about.  I’m going to hell, Captain America, and I’m taking you with me.”_

Then came everything else.  The pirate pressing the detonator.  Steve stopping and dropping to a crouch behind his shield.  The fire coming _straight at him_.  “Slow it down.”  Tony watched the nauseating blur of fire reduce its speed to a crawl.

There were the waves. The swirls.  The second Tony saw them, he was absolutely transfixed and more certain than ever that he was right about this.  They looked _just like_ the ones in Galloway’s lab.  The animation ran to its end, the waves getting larger and more pronounced just as he remembered them doing during the demo.  Like the suit was putting out more energy in an attempt to not just keep the wearer safe, but to _shield Steve_.  A force field caused by an electromagnetic current.  That got Tony thinking.  “JARVIS, if this is coming from the suit repelling the fire, and we know how the suit is making the force field, can we localize the waves now?  We have the Chameleon’s specs.  Galloway sent them.”

JARVIS considered it momentarily.  “Perhaps,” he replied, and his voice was lighter, as though he was beginning to see the problem in a new light, literally and figuratively.  “I can perhaps design a filter using the specific signature of the electromagnetic field Doctor Galloway is using to produce the energy barrier.  I believe it is possible.”

“Do it.”

JARVIS did.  Tony paced the holopad for a minute or two while the AI worked.  His mind was absolutely racing.  _Ty kidnapped Steve._   _Ty took him.  Ty had him._   Tony whimpered, choking down a panicked scream, rubbing his hands through his hair in a frenzy.  Staying still while knowing that – _and he knew that_ – was torture.  That sick, goddamn bastard.  It didn’t matter that Tony didn’t have any proof yet.  It didn’t matter that it was barely even circumstantial, nothing more than a gut feeling.  It didn’t fucking matter.  Suddenly everything, every little interaction he’d had with Ty over the last year, was suspect.  Why he’d shown up after all this time, wanting to be like old pals again.  Why he’d wanted to know about Tony’s marriage, about Steve.  _He wanted to meet Steve.  Why’d he want to meet Steve?  What does he want from Steve?  And I was in his way, so he fucking took what I wouldn’t give him.  He took Steve.  God, this is my fault.  My fucking fault._   After a year, who knew what Ty had done to Steve?  He was a vindictive bastard, a snake, a cruel and sadistic asshole who’d love to watch weaker folk flounder while he manipulated them.  He got high off it, like how he taunted and played Tony when they’d been in college and probably played countless other victims as well.  The thrill of taking something and the victim being completely unable to prove it let alone stop it.

Only this time the something was a someone, was _Steve,_ and Tony was out of his mind with panic.

JARVIS’ voice barely registered over his mounting hysteria.  “The filter is being processed.  I estimate another three minutes until it is ready.”  Another three minutes was an eternity, and Tony wanted to scream, pacing faster and almost pulling at his hair and barely holding himself together.  He couldn’t bear to look at Steve where he was still crouched on the holopad, bracing himself as his fate came blasting toward him.  He couldn’t fucking catch his breath.  His heart was racing, and he was dizzy, and he was pretty sure that he was going to hyperventilate.  “Sit down, sir.  You do Captain Rogers no good if you lose consciousness.”

Tony staggered over to his stool and plunked himself down onto it.  He was so overthrown with emotion that it took a moment for him to realize what JARVIS had said.  “You…  You believe me?”

All that time they’d worked together on Tony’s investigation, JARVIS had never _once_ conceded that anything Tony thought was possible.  Now…  “I know of the bad blood between you and Mr. Stone, and I know evil has no bounds,” the AI softly declared.  “I have also worked with you long enough to tell the difference between your flights of complete obsession and your moments of genius.  Sometimes they are interchangeable, but I am fairly certain this is the latter.”  Tony gave a giddy, little laugh at that.  If he wasn’t sure Ty had abducted his husband and kept him captive for a year, he might have been more amused.  “I have found a possible connection between Doctor Galloway and Mr. Stone.”

Tony jolted, immediately rolling up to the desk.  The monitors flooded with information.  “Were they at CalTech at the same time?”

“Not as students,” JARVIS replied.  A couple transcripts and curriculum vitae came up, one for Ty and Galloway respectively.  “Galloway did his graduate and post-doctoral work there in the late 1990s.  As you know, Mr. Stone attended the university in the early 1990s.  Galloway’s fields of expertise focused on electrical engineering, while Mr. Stone concentrated in biochemistry and pharmaceuticals.  It is unlikely that they would cross paths.”

“But they did,” Tony adamantly declared.

“Yes.  In October 2012, CalTech held an alumni research gala, during which both Mr. Stone and Doctor Galloway were invited to speak.”

Tony could hardly contain his frustration.  Even he had to admit that wasn’t conclusive.  Hundreds of people attended things like that.  “So what?”

“It appears as though Doctor Galloway presented some preliminary data on the Chameleon at this time.  It also appears that Mr. Stone and he were seated together at one of the gala’s dinner parties.”

That was more interesting.  “So Ty knew about it.”

“He did more than know.  Approximately six months later, Galloway and his research team met with investors at ViaStone’s corporate headquarters in San Francisco.”  A few internal emails with the Nova Engineering logos in their signatures appeared.  They were all pertaining to the presentation of the Chameleon polymer at ViaStone.

“You hacked Galloway’s email?” Tony whispered incredulously as he devoured the data.  Through all the not quite legal things he’d done before Manila, JARVIS had hemmed and hawed and complained and dragged his feet.  He’d never been pleased with Tony’s approaches to gathering information.

“Exigent circumstances,” JARVIS replied.  “ViaStone turned them down.  I can find no evidence that anyone in Galloway’s lab was involved with Mr. Stone beyond this, though my scan is rather cursory at the moment.”  Cursory was better than nothing.  “Three months after the failed demo, the breach occurred in Galloway’s data systems.  It happened at their lab at CalTech.”

“Ty,” Tony hissed.

“There is no direct proof of that.”  Of course there wouldn’t be.  Tony remembered what Dave had said a few days back about the FBI investigation.  No leads.  No answers.  They’d tracked the hackers to China, but that had been a dead end.  Nowhere to go from there.  However, Ty was rich and clever and had boundless resources.  He could certainly stage a cyberattack like that and make it _look_ like it had come across the world when it’d really been just next door.

“I must admit the circumstantial evidence is compelling, however,” JARVIS said.  That wasn’t much consolation, not with Tony itching out of his skin to _do_ something here because _Ty had Steve,_ but it was such a damn relief to have JARVIS listening to him.  _Believing him._   “The filter is ready.  I must warn you that it may be far from perfect, but I believe it will help clarify those frames and localize the waves.”

Tony was staggering back to the holopad before he even realized it.  “Get it on there,” he gasped, and the animation rewound again to before the explosion.  “Slow motion.”  Everything went forward again at a snail’s pace.  Tony stood next to Steve and watched as the wall of flames crept toward him.  There, right by Steve’s right side where he’d first noticed it all those months ago, the waves began, only this time they were much cleaner and easier to discern.  And they were clearly bending the fire around a very particular shape.  “Holy shit,” he whispered, the blood draining from his face.

It was a leg.

The fire reached closer to Steve, and the waves expanded.  Now it was around what they were refracting.  The outline of a head, of shoulders, of arms.  Of a goddamn _hand_ , reaching down to grab Steve.

A person, standing right in front of him.

Tony didn’t know whether to cry in relief or be sick with horror.  It was just as he’d thought in the car.  All this time, all this _fucking time_ …  The interference hadn’t been digital.  It hadn’t been someone trying to hack the video feed and doctor the images.  It hadn’t been sabotage or tampering.  It had been what he’d first thought: there was something there, _causing_ the fire and light to refract.  _Someone._

And that someone had taken Steve.

“Jesus,” Tony whispered.  It was undeniable.  This was no trick of the light.  No wishful thinking.  No grasping at straws.  But he still asked because he couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe that this could _actually_ be true.  “You’re seeing this, right, J?”

The AI sounded sufficiently cowed.  “Indeed, sir.  And I…  I must apologize for not believing you before.”

There was no time for that.  Tony was already running back to the desk, swiping away the video and pulling _everything_ JARVIS had pulled on Ty to the holopad.  “Where the fuck is he?” Tony growled, frantically picking through files.  His hands were shaking, a miserable, cold sweat bathing him.  He could hardly think over the racket of his heart in his ears.  _“Where?”_

“Who?”

“Ty.  And Steve.  Ty _has_ Steve!”

And now the doubt reared its ugly head again.  “I would suggest you stay calm.  There is still no proof that Mr. Stone is responsible for Captain Rogers’ disappearance or even that Captain Rogers is alive.”  Tony went cold at that.  God, he hadn’t even considered it.  Just because Ty had abducted Steve didn’t mean he was still alive.  It just meant he hadn’t died on the New Venture.  It had been a year.  _A year._   Steve could be dead.  Or he could be _anywhere._   Aside from the figure leaning down to grab Steve, a whole lot of inconclusive evidence that Ty knew about the Chameleon suit, and Tony’s gut feeling, there was nothing to go on here.

But that gut feeling was driving him.  He shook himself free of his miserable stasis and kept hunting through the files.  “I know Ty kidnapped him.  I know it.  So there’s got to be something to tell us where he’s keeping him.”

“Sir–”

“Come on!  Fucking help me!”  His voice cracked with a frustrated sob.

Again JARVIS hesitated, but it was only for a moment or two.  “If Stone did abduct Captain Rogers, it stands to reason he would be holding him some place fairly remote.  It also seems likely he would need both money and significant manpower to do it.  Keeping Captain America prisoner would not be easy.”

Tony was too incredibly relieved that JARVIS was on board even to contemplate that the AI could be placating him.  “Yeah.  And for a whole year?  Steve would struggle.  It’d need to be some place where that wouldn’t be noticed.”

“Yes.  You know Stone far better than I could theorize about his personality from the data I am collecting.  Would he use his company’s resources to accomplish something like this?”

Excitement jolted through Tony.  “Yeah, definitely.”

“That provides a way to narrow our search parameters.  ViaStone is publicly traded, which means I have access to some areas of their financials.  Otherwise attempting to track Stone’s spending will be laborious and time consuming.  Nonetheless, I will begin–”

“Replay the conversation we had when he came a year ago.”

“Sir?”

Tony stood, unable to stay put with the energy pulsing through him.  “Back when he was here a year ago.  That was the day before Steve led the mission.  That can’t be a coincidence!  It can’t be.  He came to taunt me, _I know it._   He always did that.  That’s the sort of asshole he is.  So he probably said something and I didn’t realize what it meant.”  He’d been desperately picking at his memories of that day the second he realized Ty was involved.  They weren’t great; a lot had happened between now and then.  “Play it back, J!”

It took JARVIS a moment to locate the footage, but he did find it despite the time that had elapsed.  He brought it up on the main monitor on Tony’s desk.  There was Ty, strolling nonchalantly into Tony’s workshop in the Tower.  And Tony himself, trying to ignore him. 

_“Tony Stark!  My God, it’s been years!”_

_“Ty Stone.  To what do I owe this pleasure?”_

_“Actually, I was just in the neighborhood.  Thought I’d stop by.  Say hello.”_

_“Hello.  And goodbye.”_

_“That’s really how you’re going to treat your old friend?”_

There was a pause there.  Tony could remember how much of a struggle it had been to be polite.  He shouldn’t have tried.  He should have realized then and there that Ty was a fucking snake.  _“How’s life been?”_

 _“It’s been good, Tones.”_ Tony shuddered, feeling sick with rage.  _“Company’s doing great.  About to open a huge office in Alaska.  Board’s pleased, so that’s fantastic.  You?”_

_“Doing fine.  Pep’s running SI now.”_

_“Yeah, I heard.  You’re–”_

“Go back,” Tony ordered.  “He said something about Alaska.”

JARVIS took the video back a few seconds and played it again.  “ _Company’s doing great,”_ Ty said. _“About to open a huge office in Alaska.”_

Tony ground his teeth together in fury hard enough that it hurt.  “That’s gotta mean something.”

“What–”

“Give me a map of ViaStone’s offices.  Include any subsidiaries.”  A map of the globe appeared before him.  It was exactly as Tony suspected.  ViaStone’s main corporate offices were in San Francisco, but like Stark Industries and other large companies, they had satellite offices, branches, and subsidiary companies worldwide.  Most of them were clustered in California with a few in New York.  Other dots spanned the continental United States, typically close to major cities.  There were also offices in London, in Beijing and Tokyo, in Prague.

But there was nothing in Alaska.

“Is this an outdated map?” Tony asked, zooming in on Alaska.

“No,” JARVIS answered.  “There is no record of ViaStone recently building or maintaining any offices in Alaska.”

Tony could hardly breathe.  “Nothing?”

“No. Not in the last few years.”

“You fucking son of a bitch,” Tony growled.  “He had to come here!  Had to dangle it in front of my face.  All that shit about getting old, about his wife leaving him, about being afraid of death…”

JARVIS’ tone was tense and horrified.  “Like a cat playing with its prey.”

A beat of silence followed, like that was too awful to process.  Tony’s eyes blurred with tears, and he looked away.  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.  _I walked right into his trap.  And Steve paid the price.  Steve did._

“Sir.”

With a short, riled sigh, he jerked back into looking at the data.  He had to.  “Alaska’s still a huge state.  We need to narrow it down somehow.  There has to be some link.”

“A link?”

 _“Something,”_ Tony snapped.  “We need to figure out where they’re holding Steve, so there has to be a connection somewhere between Ty and a place in Alaska.”  God, it could take hours if not days to do an exhaustive search of both Ty’s personal information and ViaStone.  It wasn’t like they could eliminate too many places in Alaska because they weren’t remote or isolated enough.  Frustration twisted up inside him.  “Dig through everything.  Cross-reference _everything._   I don’t care what you have to do.  We need to find–”

“Found it, sir.”

Tony nearly fell, he was so surprised.  “What?”

“Alaska is, as you say, a huge state.  It is also sparely populated, so there are far fewer leads to investigate.”  _Thank God for that._   “In 1998, Timothy Stone, Tiberius’ father, purchased a large bloc of smaller pharmaceutical companies and health networks.  This was shortly before his death and was seen by many analysts as an attempt to strengthen Stone Incorporated’s financial dominance in the industry.  One of the health networks purchased was Andromeda Health Systems.  This network was based on the west coast and fairly large but struggling financially.  As part of Andromeda, there was Sigma Health Partners, a tiny group of primary care providers located in Fairbanks, Alaska.”

JARVIS brought up the information.  Tony was too excited really to read it, at least not beyond the basics.  The AI was correct.  This miniscule company, comprised of only a dozen doctors in Fairbanks and the surrounding towns, had been purchased by Stone Inc., which had then become ViaStone.  JARVIS continued.  “These locations are all currently closed and have been for years.  The financial troubles that plagued Sigma Health continued when ViaStone acquired it, and the company shut down the network almost a decade ago.”

“So it’s nothing,” Tony sharply surmised.

“Not necessarily.  The Fairbanks Airport has recently logged numerous flights from San Francisco with cargo destined for this location.”  The map flashed a spot near the edge of the city.  It was one of the aforementioned buildings ViaStone once operated.  “Moving the amount of cargo required truck rentals.”

“What kind of cargo?”

“Biomedical.  Surgical supplies mostly.  The size of the building itself suggest it’s not anything beyond a small clinic.”

That made Tony sick and furious.  “But that could be part of it.”

“Satellite imagery reveals that there are other new buildings in the vicinity of Fairbanks, and narrowing the timeframe of construction down to the last few years proceeding Captain Rogers’ disappearance, as well as taking into account assumptions that this building would likely not be near the population and would likely be large and fortified enough to keep Captain America contained, produces these three possibilities.”

Another map appeared with three dots blinking on it.  Sure enough, they were recently built, each on acres and acres of private property, and big.  Big enough to house a small military force if need be.  “One building has no information in Fairbanks’ public permit system.”  The map zoomed in on that particular one.  It was the farthest from Fairbanks itself, located north in the hills and forests there.  “If satellite imaging is correct, this building is producing a heat signature large enough to suggest it has its own power generators.”

Tony was shaking.  He didn’t need to hear any more to be convinced.  “This has to be it.”

“It is a tenuous link at best,” JARVIS reminded.

“I don’t care.”  He turned and started running to the back of the workshop, to the alcove where his suits were.  The Mark VIII was there, shining red and gold as the lights winked on at his approach.  “I’m going.”

“Sir–”

“I don’t fucking care!  If he has Steve–”

“If he does not, you would be violating the law by breaking and entering, since I am quite sure you will not be appeased by a cursory glance of the building’s outside.  If he does have Captain Rogers as his captive, it would not be wise to go up there alone.”  Tony ignored him completely, powering up the Mark VIII with a press of his thumb to the alcove’s side panel.  Iron Man’s eyes glowed as the armor came to life.  “Sir, please!  Take these results to Director Fury.  SHIELD will help you confirm what we have found, and once they do–”

Tony was already pulling the suit toward him with a few motions of his arms.  The armor encased him, and the rear doors of the alcove opened to allow him to leave.  He shot through them, rocketing up into the sky, throwing all the suit’s power into the thrusters.  He narrowed his eyes as he flew north.  He was going to find Steve, save Steve.  _Bring Steve home._

It didn’t quite escape his notice that these were the same thoughts that had filled his head when he’d hunted down Steve’s lookalike in Manila, when he’d nearly ruined Pepper’s wedding and destroyed part of a city block.  When he’d nearly fallen down too far to be saved himself.  JARVIS was still talking.  “I am contacting SHIELD.  I will alert them of the situation and ask for support.”

Tony didn’t answer.  He didn’t care.  All he could think about was Steve.  Steve alone and hurt.  Steve afraid.  Steve at Ty’s mercy for _a year_.  What did Ty want with him?  Was this about revenge?  About hurting Tony?  None of this was an accident.  It was cold, calculated, premeditated.  Ty had taken Steve, stolen that stealth suit to fake his death, built a fucking prison out in the middle of nowhere to keep him locked up.  Gone through all that trouble.  All the fears and doubts and anger and pain Tony had written off over the last six months as obsession came stampeding back.  It wasn’t obsession.  It never had been.

Not more than a few minutes later, he was screaming across Canada and heading toward Fairbanks.  It was barely noon, so everything he did would be unfortunately visible.  At least it was overcast, thick clouds dropping snow down on the Alaskan terrain.  Tony stayed aloft, zooming over the city, letting the GPS guide him toward the building.  Not far from the outskirts of Fairbanks, there was nothing for miles.  The pines were sticks of brown and dark green coated in white, poking up on white hills.  Far ahead he spotted a river and a fairly large lake, slate-colored and placid in the snow.  Right next to that…  “I see it,” Tony declared.

“Yes,” JARVIS agreed.

Heart pounding like crazy, Tony dropped down from the clouds.  He wove through the trees along the river, wondering if Ty would be monitoring the area.  It certainly seemed probable, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t care about sneaking or being subtle.  If Steve was being held here, he’d kill anyone and everyone to get him out.

Finally, after zig-zagging through the dense maze of forest, he reached the perimeter of the building.  The place was massive, like a huge, dark, gray box.  There was fencing around it that was nearly a dozen feet tall and wired with electricity.  Iron Man’s sensors immediately detected it, and the voltage was high enough to kill.  “Yeah, he’s not trying to hide _anything_ ,” Tony snarled, activating his boot thrusters to jump up and over.

“I feel I should remind you that, if your hypothesis about this situation is correct, you may be dealing with an enemy with a highly powerful stealth suit at his disposal,” JARVIS said.  Tony focused on the scans coming in as JARVIS searched for an entrance to the building.  “I will suggest again that you wait for backup.  Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton would certainly help you.”

“They’re not here,” Tony said, “and I’m not waiting.”  He walked outside the building.  It was eerily quiet.  Aside from the fat, wet snowflakes falling, there was nothing moving.  No one around.  Unsettling didn’t begin to cover it, and if it weren’t for the fact he was out of his mind with worry and fear, he probably would have at least hesitated.  “I’m busting through those doors there.”  They were towards the rear of the building.  The area looked like some sort of loading dock.

“There will undoubtedly be surveillance.  If you have not been spotted already, you will be.”

Tony didn’t even bother to respond.  He jetted closer, finding this spot as vacant as everywhere else outside.  Without a second thought, he raised his arm and fired the palm repulsor at the door.  It gave way instantly, practically melting with the force.  After stalking closer, Tony kicked the remains open and surged inside.

It was in fact a loading dock with a couple dark and idle trucks parked inside.  One had ViaStone’s logo on the side, and Tony gritted his teeth.  He charged past them and a couple piles of crates, jumping up to the platform above where there was a control room.

There was one guard in there, and he was already raising the alarm.  Tony blasted him before he could finish drawing his handgun.  A fleeting thought screamed through his head – _you don’t know for sure Steve is here_ – but he paid it no mind.  At the console, he ejected a little circular disc (the bug, as he liked to call it) from his right gauntlet and pressed it to the tower desktop there.  It was similarly designed to the one he used to hack SHIELD a few years ago only faster and more difficult to defeat.  Almost instantly, everything on the computer (and the network to which it was attached) was being copied to the computer core at the Tower.  And now he had access to _everything_ , including floor plans of the building and the security cameras around it.  “JARVIS?”

“There are a great deal of research notes.”

JARVIS’ declaration was soft, but it fell like a death knell.  Like the world was crashing down.  _Research notes._   “On Steve?” Tony whispered.

“There is no direct reference, but there are some mentions of what is probably the super soldier serum.”  Tony squeezed his eyes shut.  Christ, this was really happening.  Steve wasn’t dead.  He was _here_ , and these monsters had been doing things to him.  ViaStone was big pharma.  Access to the serum was like access to a magic elixir.  The research possibilities were endless, and if they managed to replicate it, they could potentially cure almost any disease and make a shit ton of money in the process.  It was a gold mine.  “The files are encrypted.  It will take time to decode them.”

Tony was moving before he thought to.  He charged out of the control room and into the halls beyond.  “Give me a schematic,” he barked.  Ahead there were two soldiers bearing rifles, and he shot them both without a thought about being careful.  He didn’t fucking care if they died.  “There have to be labs.  Where are they?”

A path was illuminated on the HUD.  It led to the center of the building and then down below ground.  Tony didn’t waste a second, rocketing through the hallways.  An alarm was wailing, lights flashing red everywhere as the building went to high alert, and more and more guards came.  Tony cut them down like nothing.  Bullets clanked uselessly against his armor when the soldiers (these were that, not some run of the mill security personnel but true soldiers) fired at him.  He backhanded one into the wall hard enough to send him through the sheetrock.  The others he shot ruthlessly.  They weren’t going to stop him.

Seconds later he found the elevator that would take him down.  It was clearly a restricted area; he had to break through numerous secured doors to get here, and the elevator was locked with a retinal scanner.  Tony raised his arms and blasted it.  The doors blew into the shaft in a mangled mess, and he followed them, dropping down and landing at the bottom with a heavy clank.  The doors were sealed there as well, but he shoved his fingers into the tiny space between them and dented the metal until he could pry them apart.

Ahead of him there was a long, dark hallway.  Rooms lined either side.  Red lights were flashing everywhere.  “Heat signatures?” Tony asked.

JARVIS brought up the infrared results.  “None.  I find this unsettling.”

Tony couldn’t argue with that.  His breath was fast and loud in his helmet as he made his way down the hallway.  Despite his panic, he went fairly slowly, unnerved enough to wonder what the hell was going on here.  If they were doing research on the serum, where was the staff?  The doctors?  He glanced into an office as he passed.  It looked like someone had been working there once but not now.  In fact, none of the offices really had any signs of activity. The lab rooms were similarly clean and empty.  “Where is everyone?” he breathed.

“I cannot begin to guess,” JARVIS responded quietly.

Tony shook his head.  Did this mean he was wrong?  Steve wasn’t down here?  Or that they’d already finished what they were doing?  _That’s fucking impossible._   No one could replicate the serum.  People smarter than Ty had been trying for decades, all to no avail.  The closest anyone had come was Bruce’s attempt, and that hadn’t turned out well at all.

But why weren’t people _working?_

“I suggest you hurry,” JARVIS warned.  “I am detecting a great deal of activity above you from their security feeds, and there is no way up aside from that elevator.  If they block your escape…”  Tony gritted his teeth and picked up the pace.  It didn’t matter why there was no one here.  He was going to find Steve and get him out.

Ahead and around the corner there was a bigger room if the building blueprints were correct.  Again he found a security checkpoint and with it finally some people.  A few guards were there, screaming into their comms as Tony approached, obviously torn between fighting an unwinnable fight and abandoning their posts to save themselves.  One was attempting to seal the hallway, attempting and failing because Tony caught the descending door and shoved it back up into the ceiling with a cry.  He charged forward, shooting two with each palm repulsor before kicking the third.  Then he blasted open the doors they’d been guarding.

The room beyond that was huge, very dark, and very quiet.  Utterly empty.  Massive pipes ran along the ceiling, probably coming down from above.  Some of them were venting vapor, which did nothing to quell Tony’s anxiety.  His heart was racing as he stepped forward, glancing repeatedly at the infrared scan on the HUD.  No heat signatures.  Again there were consoles and equipment, but they didn’t seem to be in use.

Save for one lone monitor, straight ahead.  Its blue light cut through the heavy darkness like a beacon, an ominous one.  Tony headed toward it, and the second he got close, the system whirred quietly to life, and the lights overhead finally winked on.

And revealed pure horror.

“Oh, my God,” Tony moaned.  Terror rushed over him in a nauseating wave.  In all of his worst nightmares, he’d never even _fathomed_ something like this.

There was a tank before him, one filled with liquid that seemed tinted blue and glowing from more lights inside it.  Its glass was very thick, probably made to withstand large amounts of pressure.  Controls blinked along the platform on which the tank stood, and huge metal pillars flanked it to keep it in place.  The pipes that spanned the room entered machinery behind it, and some connected directly to the top.  The tank was big enough to hold a person.  And it was holding a person.

_Steve._

He was floating inside the liquid, limp and lifeless.  His eyes were closed, his body motionless aside from the small currents within the tank as fluid was sucked out and pumped in.  He was naked.  That only made the other horrors that much more obvious.  A mask of sorts was strapped over his nose and mouth, a big, ugly, black thing with tubes coming out of it that went up to the top of the tank.  There were cables connected to him as well, fastened all over his body.  They looked like they went into some sort of ports that had been surgically implanted.  They were in his neck and shoulders and arms, in his pecs and down his torso to his stomach, in his thighs and legs.  It was like some awful, grotesque scene from _The Matrix_ or something, only worse, so much worse, because this wasn’t Hollywood horror.  This was _real_.

Somehow, those ugly, awful implants and the injuries weren’t the worst of it, though.  No, the worst part of this hellish sight was the fact that Steve was so _thin._   The serum kept him perpetually fit and healthy, muscular but lean.  Strong and beautiful.  The body floating in that tank, though, was like a skeleton.  Almost all of his muscle mass was just _gone._   His skin had no color to it, though Tony couldn’t tell if the pallor was from the glow of the tank and the fluid or if he was simply that white.  His bones were practically visible, jutting out as if there was nothing between them and the thin layer of his skin.  Tony could count his ribs.  _All of them._   Steve was completely emaciated, gaunt as if he’d withered away.  As if he’d spent this entire missing year trapped here, floating in this watery hell with no sun and no food and no care and no one who had so much as _noticed_.

For an endless moment, Tony simply stared.  His brain couldn’t process what he’d found.  It was disturbing and terrifying beyond anything Tony had ever seen, and he’d seen things that were unbearable, inconceivable.  Haunting and damaging.  _This,_ discovering the body of the man he loved, the body that Tony had adored and worshipped, the one that carried the heart and mind and soul that so perfectly complemented his own…  Seeing Steve reduced to this was devastating.  It violated the very core of him, stripping everything away until only one thought remained in his head.

_Get him out of there!_

He choked on a sob, finally breaking free from his shock and stumbling closer to the tank.  “Is he alive?” he gasped, barely recognizing his own voice.  “Steve?  It’s Tony!  Steve!”  He banged on the tank, banged with the power of the suit, and the glass didn’t even rattle.  Steve didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move at all.  _“Steve!”_   Nothing.  Tony could hardly breathe.  “Is he–”

“The monitors, sir!”

Tony rushed to the console beside the tank, too frantic even to be afraid to look.  Steve _was_ alive.  _Steve’s alive._ “Christ.”  _Barely._   His pulse was hardly anything, unnaturally slow.  His respiration was similarly depressed.  Blood pressure seriously reduced.  Brain activity low.  Core body temperature…  Tony heaved a sob.

This was a cryostasis chamber.

Now the panic was absolutely driving.  “JARVIS, get him out!”

“Wait!  Using the bug, I can–”

 _“Get him out!  Get him out!”_ Tony was back at the tank, frantically looking for a way to open it.  A lock, a switch, a door.  Something.  The glass was smooth, and there didn’t seem to be any access point.  He couldn’t see the back of it, though, not with those pillars on the sides.  He banged on the glass more, increasingly frenzied.  Steve didn’t move, even as Tony hit again and again.  _No, no, no!_ He wasn’t strong enough, not without weapons.  The glass was obviously made to withstand enhanced individuals.  “Goddamn it!”

“I have access to the console,” JARVIS announced, his tone riled and worried.  “Initiating the warm-up procedure.”

“How long?” Tony gasped.  _“How long?”_

JARVIS’ voice was small.  “Thirty minutes.”  Tony could have screamed.  “Sir, they’re coming.  Dozens strong.  By my estimation they will be there in less than four minutes.  You must escape.”

“No!”

“I know this is difficult but you must leave Captain Rogers so you can–”

Now he did scream in frustration.  Leave?  He couldn’t leave.  He couldn’t leave Steve now when he’d finally found him and not like this.  Never like this.  He couldn’t let these monsters hurt Steve further.  _Never._

But he couldn’t afford to be surrounded and trapped down here, either, not if he had to protect Steve while fighting them off.  And he couldn’t think, _not with Steve like this_ , inside that tank with its liquid barely above freezing.  There was no fucking time, no fucking _choice_.  Before he even realized what he was doing, he was standing back and raising his arms to aim the palm repulsors at the tank.

_“Sir, don’t!”_

It was too late.  He fired at the glass.  The two powerful beams of energy struck the chamber.  For a moment, it seemed as though nothing was happening.  Then the tube exploded.  Tony immediately deactivated the repulsors as gallons upon gallons of fluid spilled out in a floor.  A wave of it rushed over him, a massive splash that tried to drive him back.  He was rooted firmly against it, ignoring it, ignoring the alarm klaxons and the warnings JARVIS was screaming in his ear about how quickly altering Steve’s body temperature could induce shock or worse but how could anything be worse than _this–_

Than Steve slumping in the remains of the tube, held in place by the innumerable cables attached to the implants in his body.  Than his ruined body dangling like a brutalized marionette slumped in its strings.

Tony surged up the platform.  “Get these fucking things off him!” he shouted, praying JARVIS had access to whatever system controlled the cables.  They weren’t that thick, no greater than a few centimeters in diameter, but there were so many of them.  “Get them off now!”  He grabbed Steve’s slick body, lifting it up – _God, he weighs nothing_ – so the strain wasn’t on those implants and ripping at Steve’s skin.  Tony couldn’t help the bile burning the back of his throat.  The implants went all the way across the backs of Steve’s shoulders and down his spine, one in seemingly every vertebra.  Christ, there were two in the back of his head, each one drilled into his mastoids behind his ears.  “Oh, God.  What’d he do to you?  God, please...”  With one gauntlet, he grabbed one of the cables there in his head and pulled it free.  It detached from the disc-like implant easily enough.  “JARVIS!”

There was a hiss and the rest of the cables came loose and fell off.  Fluid came out of the implants with them, cryostasis fluid mixed with something brackish and brown in color.  Like old blood.  Tony gagged at the awful sight.  He detached his gauntlets from Iron Man, the metal gloves clunking to the puddle beneath their feet.  Holding Steve with one arm, he went to work on removing that mask.  He couldn’t lower Steve to the floor until he got the horrific thing off.  His fingers shook wildly as he struggled with the buckle.  Tears blurred his vision while he fumbled in frustration for what seemed like forever.  He finally got the latch undone, and he pulled the whole apparatus away.  It was down Steve’s trachea, down there to breathe for him while he’d been submerged.  Retracting the tube was torturous, and more and more fluid spilled from Steve’s mouth as he pulled it free.  For a second as Tony painstakingly drew the last of the plastic length out, he was terrified Steve wouldn’t start breathing on his own.

But he tried to.  He gurgled, gagged, and choked, icy, thick liquid dribbling from his lips.  Tony immediately went down to his knees, and he let Steve’s head and torso fall to the side to help the fluid drain.  “Come on,” he whimpered.  “Come on, baby, please…”

Steve finally drew a gasping, ragged breath.  It was weak and halting, but another came after that, and _another_ after that, and his eyelids fluttered slightly.  “Steve?” Tony whispered, not daring to hope.  He flipped up the faceplate on his suit, and tears spilled from his eyes and down onto his husband’s waxy, bruised face.  “Steve?  Steve, it’s Tony.  It’s Tony!”

Steve said nothing.  If he was conscious, it wasn’t obvious.  Tony didn’t know how he could be.  He was little more than a rag doll, completely limp in Tony’s arms, shivering weakly, sopping wet, and dripping.  Long limbs drooped with no strength at all.  One quick glance down his body was all Tony could stand, not with those awful implants all over him.  Not with the faded bruises on his chest, the scars all over him that looked like old burns.  The marks around Steve’s wrists.  Those he saw plain as day now.  Any joy or relief Tony would have – _should have_ – felt in this moment, this moment where he _finally_ had Steve back in his arms, was utterly quashed by horror.  “Steve, God…  Steve!”  He cradled him tighter, lifted him closer, cupped Steve’s cheek where his head lolled against his arm.  Steve’s hair was short, a militaristic buzzcut that looked wrong and severe.  He had a sparse beard framing his mouth and jaw, nothing like the full one he wore sometimes when he was particularly lazy about shaving.  His eyelashes were dark and pressed down tightly, stark against the paleness of his skin.  Tony rubbed his cheek, his flesh there as cold and stiff as it was everywhere else.  Then he simply lost his composure and buried his face into Steve’s neck, uncaring that it was slick with fluid that smelled strongly medicinal and so goddamn _wrong_.  The flutter of Steve’s heartbeat there was almost nonexistent.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry!”

“Sir, you need to go now,” JARVIS firmly reminded.  “Right now.”

There was no going anywhere.  There were still sensors attached to Steve’s chest, and they registered the fact that something was wrong before Tony did.  A new alarm started to whine, this one coming from one of the other monitors.  The computers were dumping information all over the screens around them, Steve’s deplorable vitals and the erratic EKG readings.  Tony didn’t need to look to see what was happening.  _Ventricular fibrillation._   “He is in cardiac arrest!”

“Get the suit off me!”

“But–”

It didn’t matter that there was no time, that the soldiers were coming, that they’d _both_ die down here if he did this.  He couldn’t help Steve with Iron Man on him.  He couldn’t effectively do CPR or render first aid like this.  And he needed to, so again there was no choice.  _“Get it off!”_

Iron Man unfolded from him so perfectly that he never lost his grip on Steve.  He was vaguely aware the armor was standing up, the gauntlets returning to it from where they’d been dumped in the remains of the tank, and turning around to guard them with its palm repulsors raised and at the ready.  Tony could hear voices over the alarms screaming, a lot of them.  But all he did was gently set Steve to the cold concrete, because Steve wasn’t breathing anymore and Steve’s heart was stopping.

He balled his hands into fists, compressing Steve’s rail-thin chest, counting in his head.  _This is my fault._   He kept thinking that, too, as he counted.  _My fault._ All thoughts of escape pretty much vanished as he worked, pushing on Steve’s breastbone.  When he reached five, he tipped Steve’s chin up and tilted his head back.  He swept his fingers inside Steve’s mouth, finding a great deal more fluid, mucus, and probably some sort of lubricant for that tube, and trying his best to get it all out.  Then he pinched Steve’s nose shut and sealed his mouth over Steve’s and breathed for him.  _My fault._   Steve was like this, tortured and experimented on and _dying_ , because Tony had stopped looking, stopped fighting, let himself believe he was dead.  _My fault!_   The second breath moved Steve’s chest, but he didn’t start breathing on his own, and Tony went back to the compressions.  “Come on,” he begged, barely holding back vicious panic.  “Come on!  Don’t do this, Steve!  _Please!_ ”

All around him things started happening.  Under JARVIS’ control, Iron Man was taking on the attackers who’d finally reached them, and sound of gunfire clanking against the armor and punching into the floor was thunderous.  Bullets careened into the shadows, narrowly missing Tony where he was hunched over Steve’s body.  There was more shouting, klaxons still wailing, the familiar sound of Iron Man’s arsenal as JARVIS defended them with the repulsors and the unibeam and everything else the suit had to offer.  Tony couldn’t focus on any of it.  He shivered in fear, clothes soaked through in that frigid liquid, pumping Steve’s chest and breathing into his mouth.  Steve’s lips were blue, frozen, slack and unmoving.  This was some vicious parody of the thousands of kisses they’d shared.  The whole thing was a cruel, unending nightmare.

And it got worse.  There was a low _thunk_ and the clang of something hitting Iron Man, a deeper clang of something bigger than a bullet.  Tony threw himself over Steve, preparing for the detonation of a grenade, but it wasn’t that.  A muted clap of thunder resounded in the room, vibrating everything, even Tony’s bones.  Iron Man went dark.  The armor stopped.  The arc reactor shut off, the blue light of the eyes winking out.  Tony watched in horror.  Some of the machinery around them turned off, too, and the lights flickered.  A part of his brain still functioning supplied the answer – _some sort of localized EMP –_ but he was too stricken to process it.  Just like that, they’d been disarmed.

A flood of soldiers descended upon them.  There was more than a dozen of them, all with rifles aimed and ready to fire, and they were encircling Tony and Steve like predators having trapped their prey.  Tony pulled Steve into his arms, shielding him with his body because there was nothing else.  There was no hope of escape now.

From the back of the group, a handful of men appeared, all dressed in scrubs.  They had bags of medical supplies and a stretcher.  Behind them, Ty emerged, striding purposefully across the wet floor, past Iron Man’s dark and statuesque form, and stopping right in front of Tony.  Ty was dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit and a red tie, hair slicked back, looking young and disgustingly arrogant.  “I figured you’d find your way here eventually, Tones,” he said, staring at Tony where he was cradling Steve.  “Now I suggest you stand back and let me save his life.  Wouldn’t want your precious boy toy to die for real this time…”  Ty’s grin was nothing short of evil.  “Would we?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you all for the kind comments and kudos! Well, here we are. Hold onto your butts.

“Clear!”

Tony couldn’t stand to watch as Steve’s body was jolted by the leads of the AED attached to his chest.  He couldn’t stand to watch as one doctor immediately resumed chest compressions and another began squeezing the bag-mask anew to force air into Steve’s body because the shock did nothing to save him.  Tony couldn’t stand any of it, not their calm chatter as they tried to resuscitate Steve, not the sight of Steve’s thin, gray body against the wet floor, not the damn _helplessness_.  And it wasn’t just that Iron Man was still dark and disabled or that Tony himself was flanked by a dozen soldiers prepared to shoot him on the spot if he tried anything.  It wasn’t the cuffs binding his arms behind his back.  It wasn’t even the fact that he’d flown into this mess without thinking, that once again he’d been stupid and impulsive and hadn’t waited or gotten help from SHIELD or the rest of the team, that he’d fucking _screwed up_ and now both he and Steve were prisoners.

It was the fact that he couldn’t do _anything_ to save Steve now.  Steve lived or died by these bastards’ skill and luck.

Not that Tony had done anything to save Steve since the explosion that supposedly took his life.  No, he’d given up, _accepted it_ , and gone on, lived in comfort, _lived_ while Steve had been tortured and brutalized and kept in a tank of almost frozen liquid.  Tony understood better than anyone just how afraid Steve was of cold, how much crashing the _Valkyrie_ off of Greenland and spending seven decades in the ice had scarred him and haunted his dreams.  It was hard for Tony to process anything he was seeing at the moment, but that fact was there, clinging to the back of his mind.  Tony had spent this last year safe and _warm_ , and Steve had been tormented by his worst nightmare.

Tony had failed.  He’d failed on so many levels.

“Don’t look so scared.”

Tony looked up at the sound of Ty’s voice.  The sick son of a bitch was standing next to him, completely uncaring that his captive was dying in the middle of his lab while his old friend was watching and shaking in panic.  Ty caught Tony’s eyes and gave half a shrug.  “Not the first time this has happened.  He survived before.  That stuff in his veins is magic.”

 _Jesus._   The doctors shouted and shocked Steve again, but the energy from the AED still didn’t bring Steve back.  Tony’s eyes burned and blurred with tears as his gaze once more settled on Steve’s lax, empty face.  On his emaciated body, where all the muscle definition was simply gone, reduced to waxy skin and gaunt bones.  Some part of his mind was always working, always thinking, and that part reasoned that the serum _had_ to still be working on some level.  Ty hadn’t shut it off.  Tony had seen plenty of pictures of Steve before the serum.  He’d been short, barely over five feet.  Steve was the same height he always was (which make the thinness of his long, six-foot body all that much more disturbing).  And the aged wounds…  They were all over him.  Burn scars.  He’d been _badly_ burned, and that had healed so much that all that was left were these marks on his skin.  However, those injuries (and all the others) hadn’t healed completely, and with the rate the serum regenerated and repaired damaged tissue, they should have been gone ages ago.  And Steve looked like he’d been starved, but Tony knew too that, with the number of calories Steve needed to thrive, starvation or dehydration would have killed him quickly.  Furthermore, he vaguely recalled that when he looked at those monitors before with Steve’s vitals, they indicated Steve _was_ being fed.  In fact, he was being pumped full of liquidized nutrition far in _excess_ of what he normally required.

 _Why?_ None of it made sense.  Maybe if Steve wasn’t like this, unresponsive and for all intents and purposes _destroyed_ , Tony would be able to think better and figure it out.  As it was, all he could do was ask in a tiny whisper, “What did you do to him?”

“Me?  This wasn’t me, Tony.  You really should have known better than to take someone out of a controlled hypothermic state.  A sudden shock to his system like that?  Warmed blood rushing back to a frozen core?”  Tony cringed helplessly, too horrified to really process that, and Ty tsked.  “That could kill a man.  _You_ caused this.”

In another place, another time, Tony would have known Ty was playing him.  Manipulating his emotions, like he always used to when Tony had been a kid.  Now, with Steve lifeless before him…  He wasn’t strong enough to ignore the pain.

Or his anger.  He lost his temper and pulled away from the soldiers flanking him with a cry.  With his hands bound so tightly, there wasn’t anything he could do other than get in Ty’s space and fucking drip on him with how soaked he was, but he didn’t stop, wasn’t daunted, was too hurt and enraged to care.  “What the hell did you do to him?” he screamed right into Ty’s face.  “Huh?  _What’d you do to him?”_

“Well, I didn’t pay those pirates to attack the oil rig and orchestrate all of this for his looks,” Ty said, stepping away from him as the soldiers grabbed Tony’s arms again and pulled him back.  Tony’s blood boiled, his vision blurring from tears and rage.  Ty gave that fucking condescending smile of his.  “Come on.  You know what I’m after.”

Behind them, the doctors were using the defibrillator again.  Tony could hear it discharge, like lightning crashing to match the thunder of his heart.  “The serum,” he growled.

“Definitely the serum,” Ty confirmed nonchalantly.

Tony felt even sicker to hear that.  “What did you want?” he harshly demanded.  “A jump in biopharmaceuticals sales?  The next big drug?  Recreating the Erskine’s work itself?  Huh?  _What?”_   His voice broke.  Ty’s face remained absolutely and infuriatingly placid.  “To make ViaStone the best in the world?  To – to live up to your father’s legacy?”

Ty actually laughed.  “Oh, please, Tony.  Do you really think I give a flying fuck about my father?  Do you?  Do you think for _one second_ that I’d go through all this _for him?_ ”  There was a vicious glint in Ty’s eyes.  “No, I did this for me.”

Tony didn’t understand, staring at Ty, shaking his head numbly.  Something inside him drew tight in horror.  “For you?”

“Clear!” shouted one of the doctors again. 

Tony whipped around, nearly choking on a sob when he heard the shock and then the sound of the monitors switching from an awful monotone whine to a tentative series of beeps.  The man doing CPR stopped and jabbed his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s neck, feeling for his pulse.  Tony watched, unable to breathe until the man finally nodded.  “We got him back.”

Tony could have collapsed from his relief.  A sob worked its way up his throat, breaching his lips, and he desperately lurched closer.  The men held him still.  Ty nodded, smug.  Again he stood at Tony’s side in an almost companionable way as the doctors went about stabilizing Steve.  “Like I said, magic in his veins.”

Steve’s head moved a bit.  It wasn’t obvious if he had any sense of awareness, if he was coming around at all.  The guy still working the bag-mask pulled it away, though, as Steve took a weak, halting breath on his own.  The doctors touched him with no compassion, pressing the mask right back, stilling him as he squirmed and then coughed weakly.  He was trying to move his right hand, trying and failing.  _Captain America_ , unable to move his hand.  It was clear what he wanted to do all the same.  _Push them away._

Tony wanted to cry.  He might have been.  He tasted salt and didn’t know if it was sweat or tears.  He tried to move again, but the soldiers kept him firmly in place.  The doctors took Steve’s arms and held them over his chest, trapping them there as they worked.  They were injecting him with cartridges of something, and Tony was too stricken even to wonder what.  Steve wriggled a bit more, small, ineffective movements, and the doctors were only colder as they restrained him.  “Let him go!” Tony cried, his voice thick with grief and cracking.  “For God’s sake, don’t!  Let him go!”

“You didn’t even realize what you had, did you.”

Tony ripped around, eyes wet and fiery.  _“What?”_

Ty lifted his chin, folding his arms over his chest.  “You didn’t realize what you had literally right in front of your eyes.  Right at your fingertips.”  Tony didn’t understand, didn’t _want_ to understand.  Ty stared at him with mock surprise.  “What you had with him.”

“I had a life with him!” Tony shouted.  “I had a life with him, and he had one with me, and you fucking took it!”

Ty actually rolled his eyes, the unbelievable asshole.  “You always were so goddamn short-sighted, Tony.  _No._   What you had _in_ him.”  Tony felt his lips quiver, felt his composure slipping even further.  He still couldn’t even think, let alone follow along, and his eyes darted back to Steve.  Ty got exasperated.  “You lived with him.  Fought alongside him.  _Fucked him,_ for crying out loud.  Don’t tell me you don’t know his body inside and out.”  Hearing Ty talk about their relationship made him feel even sicker.  “And don’t tell me you weren’t jealous.”

Tony lurched at Ty, furious.  “Never, you sick fuck.  Never!”

Ty was completely uncaring.  He folded his arms across his chest.  “Well, I was.  Still am actually.  You know, they teach entire classes in biochem and genetics on Erskine’s serum?  Some guys have been working on it their whole lives and have nothing to show for it but a bunch of speculation and being relegated to giving lectures.  But they keep at it!  Figuring out the secrets of the super soldier formula is like the holy grail.”  He sighed.  “I never paid much attention to it.  Didn’t see the point, to be honest, since there’s no way to recreate it and history’s one and only working example was dead.  But when they found Cap and thawed him out and put him on TV with you at his side, saving the world like that…  I could actually see what the serum _is_ , what it can do.  It’s pretty amazing.  And it’s also pretty obnoxious, wanting something you can’t have.  I have to say it was made worse by the fact that _you_ had it and you didn’t even seem to care.”

Tony shuddered, speechless.  Ty grinned a cruel smirk and went on.  “But there again with the lack of vision.  All that power and strength and enhanced healing…  All of that is locked up inside his DNA.  No one can get it out.  That’s still true, isn’t it?  Your good friend Bruce Banner tried.  Look what that got him.”

Uselessly Tony shook his head.  He didn’t know what Ty was getting at.  “You can’t recreate the serum.”

“I already said I know that.  So I figured, why even bother, right?  Going after the impossible is pointless.  But then I realized…  I don’t need to recreate the serum.  Use what God gave you.”

“No one gave you anything,” Tony snapped.  “You staged Steve’s death and took him!”

“Don’t split hairs,” Ty glibly replied.  His expression tightened.  “God or fate or whatever you want to believe in…  Things were dropped in my path that I couldn’t ignore.  Things like pirates looking for money, of which I have an overabundance.  Things like other people’s inventions, stealth suits and new alloys of metal that actually can collect and conduct biochemical energy.”  Tony felt the blood drain from his face.  He turned back to Steve, to the withered form on the floor that used to be Captain America, to the metal implants all over his body.  _Oh, God…_   “Of course, the people who came up with those things probably weren’t too thrilled that I borrowed their research.  Again with the lack of vision and the lack of foresight.  It’s not wise to demo your products to your potential competitors.  And it’s certainly not wise to trust.”

Tony’s mouth fell open and not at the implication that Ty had stolen more research from other people to make this plan of his happen.  Horror sank vicious claws into him, tearing and ripping at all that remained of his composure.  Ty grinned, cocking an eyebrow.  “Now you’re finally getting it, huh.  The old wheels are turning in Tony Stark’s super-powered brain.  You’re finally seeing him for what he is.”  Mutely Tony shook his head because it was too much, too awful.  Ty grasped Tony’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.  “He’s an unending supply of high-quality biochemical energy that only the serum can produce, the sort that boosts metabolism and increases cellular regeneration and vitality to nearly super human levels.  He’s like…”  Ty threw his hands up.  “It’s a shitty metaphor, but it’s true.  He’s like a never-ending battery.”

 _No._ That was why Steve was so skinny, so pale and weak.  It wasn’t just that he’d been trapped in that tank.  It wasn’t that he’d been physically tortured.  It wasn’t even that the serum had been stolen.  _No, no, no._

It was Ty _taking_ his life away.  Harvesting the enhanced energy his cells produced.  _Draining him._   Leaving this husk of the man Steve had been, these emaciated, shattered remains of strength and power and beauty.  Tony squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch his husband’s body anymore as Steve shivered weakly against the cement with the medical team still holding him down.  So much devastation.  So much _ruin._   “Why?” he whispered.  “Why?”

“Ah, Tones,” Ty said, and that friendly clasp on Tony’s shoulder turned into an arm around him.  “Come on.  Think.  This isn’t about recreating the serum or extracting it for ViaStone or my father’s legacy or any of that.  It’s not even about beating _you._ ”  Tony gasped a sob.  _Bullshit!_ Ty turned him around.  “Look at me.  Look at how good I look.”

And Tony did look.  Ty was the same as he had been a few days ago when the son of a bitch had come to his workshop in the Tower and expressed his condolences a year too late.  Unnaturally young.  Unnaturally healthy.  Flawless skin that seemed even more wrinkle-free and gleaming with life than it had before.  Thick, lush hair that was vibrantly brown.  Eyes full of vigor and vitality.  Body tall and strong and muscular beneath that expensive suit.  Strong and handsome and _young_ , far younger than fifty.

Ty grinned.  “Did you _really_ think this was from a couple of rounds of Botox and some spa treatment?  Huh?”  His amusement only grew at Tony’s bewildered stare.  His smile turned cheeky as he pulled off his suit coat.  He handed that to one of the soldiers before undoing what looked like a diamond studded cufflink.  Then he rolled up his sleeve to the elbow, revealing a muscled arm, and there it was in his wrist: another one of those dark implants, just like the ones in Steve’s body.  “Your sweet Steve’s the Fountain of Youth, and I’ve been drinking everything he’s had to give.”

The room felt still and quiet, like time had stopped.  Tony was staring numbly at that implant, at how Ty was _stealing_ Steve’s life for himself.  Somehow this was worse, worse than Ty or anyone else kidnapping Steve to experiment on him or try and use him to recreate the serum somehow.  At least there was something logical about that, as foul as it was.  Taking the serum to make more super soldiers or try to cure diseases or any other reason…  Not this.  This was nothing more than vanity, just fucking _vanity_.  This arrogant, rich asshole wanted to cheat death.  Just like he’d said a year ago, he wanted to live forever.  Never getting sick.  Never getting old.  Never dying.

And he was keeping Steve in a tank and using him to make a goddamn elixir.

Tony was shaking uncontrollably, unable to breathe, unable to think and hardly able to hear over the rapid fire of his pulse in his ears.  Ty was still fucking talking as he rolled his sleeve back down.  “If it makes you feel any better, he fought hard in the beginning.  First couple months we had him here he was an absolute pain in the ass.  Tried to escape three or four times.  Cut my guys down like it was going out of style.  I was having trouble getting more soldiers up here without anyone noticing because he was going through them so fast.  Really made it difficult, your boy, and kept at it no matter how many times we beat the hell out of him.  But once I figured out we could wire him up and keep him in the tank, it got a lot easier.  Turns out the cold is Captain America’s Achilles heel.  Who knew?”  Ty laughed.  “Anyway, things became simpler then.  He was frozen, docile, sleeping, probably not even dreaming.  Ripe for the taking.  Pump enough liquid calories into him, and the serum keeps right on chugging, running wild in an attempt to fix his body, only we’re taking what it’s making, so it just keeps producing more, and we take that, and you get a nice biofeedback up-regulation loop.  It’s just perfect.  I can take years off my life, and I don’t even have to listen to him scream.”

That was it.  Tony roared, charging at Ty.  His shoulder rammed into Ty’s chest, but _Ty hardly budged._   Surprise rushed over him – _he’s got Steve’s strength!_ – and in the second he spent reeling with that realization Ty snatched him about the throat and hefted him up straight into the air.  He was inches off the ground now, shoes kicking to reach the floor, choking as impossibly powerful fingers squeezed his windpipe.  Ty’s eyes glowed gleefully.  “It’s all mine now,” he hissed.  “Everything _you_ had is _mine._ ”

He threw Tony down into the concrete like he was nothing.  Tony hit hard on his back, his weight crushing his hands, his skull smacking down.  Pain rushed through him, and he lay there lost in it, staring into the shadows overhead.  Shadows and then men looking down at him, guns pointed right at his forehead.

“Doctor Stone, we’re ready to move him,” someone said.

“Get him ready for transit as fast as possible.  I highly doubt Stark would come here without alerting SHIELD or the rest of the Avengers, and we need the second tank right away,” Ty replied.  “And bill fucking Stark Industries for the first one.  Millions of dollars wasted.”  He toed some of the broken glass angrily.

“Yes, sir.”  There was creaking, wheels rolling.  The gurney being brought over.  Tony turned weakly to watch as the group of doctors lifted Steve’s limp body out of the puddles of fluid and bundled him onto the stretcher.  Steve was squirming again, little jerks that could have been shivers or more feeble attempts to get away from them.  _No._   Tears spilled from Tony’s dazed eyes.  _No.  Don’t take him._

But they took him.  They took him again and Tony couldn’t stop it.

The next thing he knew, Ty was looming over him.  He was getting his sleeve back in place and his suit jacket back on.  “Face it, Tones.  I won.”  Tony groaned, struggling feebly, wanting to scream but not finding the strength over the agony in his head to do it.  Ty gave a grin.  “But I’ll give you a consolation prize.  I can only imagine, since you’re such a good man nowadays, how much you wished over the last year that you could have taken Steve’s place or died right along with him.  That’d be an ending befitting any tragic love story.  So here.  No hard feelings, right?  You and your beloved can share the same fate.”  He turned to the soldiers.  “Go dump him in the river.”  Then he walked away.

Tony whimpered, trying to roll onto his side, trying to fight despite the guns on him.  There was nothing he could do, nowhere he could go.  And he couldn’t do a thing to save himself, let alone Steve, as one of the soldiers rammed the butt of his rifle into his head and sent him down into the darkness.

* * *

Tony vaguely realized he was being dragged somewhere.  He was outside.  The world was white and gray, wet snow and tree trunks.  The air was painfully fresh, cold, and damp, and the ground was wet and icy beneath him.  He knew that because his legs were folded up beneath him as he was carried, and they were sliding through the muck.  He didn’t have the wherewithal to attempt to get them beneath him nor to struggle against the soldiers hauling his semi-conscious body through the woods.  He wasn’t aware enough to do much of anything but blink hazily and suck in that frigid air into his aching lungs and drift.

_“You really need to get up.”_

_“Go ’way.”_

_“We were due to meet Fury almost an hour ago.”_ He imagined Steve’s blue eyes, stern and reproachful but not without worry.  _“What the hell are you doin’ out here, anyway?”_ He could hear Steve’s sigh, or was it a quiet gust of wind in the woods?  He didn’t know which.  He was dreaming again, remembering.

_“Tony, get up.  Come on.”_

_“Just leave me alone.”_

_“God, it’s freezing.  What are you trying to do, kill yourself?”_

_“Fuck off, Rogers.”_

_It was December 16 th, 2012.  For some reason it was hitting him hard that year.  For some reason.  Fuck, he knew why.  Why was walking across the balcony of the Tower just outside his workshop.  Why was so damn persistent, even though Tony knew the other man didn’t like the frigid, damp air and light snow.  Why was planting that perfect ass of his right next to him._

_Why was Steve Rogers back from the dead, fighting alongside him as his teammate, working with him to protect the world.  Once it became obvious New York hadn’t been a one-time thing, that Steve and all the others were staying in the Tower and everyone was remaining together as a team, everything had changed.  It was obvious to Tony now that he couldn’t believe the awful things he’d told himself about Captain America over the years.  His father had sold his childhood to find Steve, and now Steve was there, and even though Tony hardly knew him at all (and didn’t want to know him really), he was certain that Steve wasn’t one bit the self-righteous, stupid, sanctimonious prick Tony had imagined.  And that brought all his damn insecurities to the forefront, because spending his life convincing himself that the world’s first and best hero was really an asshole in disguise…  Apparently all that spite meant nothing.  Rogers wasn’t an asshole.  He was every bit as good as Howard had always claimed._

_Discovering that had only made Tony hate him more.  And he didn’t want him here, not today of all days.  It was bad enough that Steve was pushing his way into every other part of Tony’s life.  How much he was starting to stir feelings deep in Tony’s heart, feelings that Tony wasn’t ready to face much less figure out, was even worse._

_But today?  Not fucking today.  Today Tony wanted to sit out in the snow and drink and be by himself.  “Look, Cap, I know you’re taking this whole ‘team building’ shit to heart, and you have to give everything the good old army try, but seriously.  Fuck off.”_

_The vitriol in his voice wasn’t enough to dissuade Steve.  He and Steve argued a lot, but Steve never really lost his cool, no matter how Tony tried to get under his skin.  So the other man just sat there, close enough that their thighs were almost brushing where they were on the Tower balcony.  It was quiet.  Mournful.  The snow fell softly.  Tony had to admit that having Steve there was a tiny bit  helpful, something to keep his mind from other things, namely the sight of his parents’ mangled car, their dead bodies, the gray, rainy funeral and the night afterward that he’d spent drowning in a bottle…  He had another bottle clenched in his hand, one of Jack Daniels, and he’d swallowed down enough that he was numb.  This was after he’d locked himself in his workshop for almost two days straight, ignoring everything and everyone._

_So surely that was why Steve was here.  Not because of a missed meeting with Fury, at least not entirely.  Because Tony was drinking himself to oblivion and Cap was there to remind him to be a better man._

_That wasn’t what he said, though.  In fact, he said nothing at all, watching the little flakes fall over them both, tucking tighter into his sweater and staring out at the cloud and the curtains of white descending prettily all over New York City.  Tony glanced at him, at this handsome face and distant blue eyes, and all that buried hatred surged inside him.  It wasn’t fair, and he knew that, but he blamed Steve for his damaged relationship with his father, for the years Howard had never had any time for him.  Steve was Howard’s greatest creation, after all.  Tony couldn’t measure up to that.  That made him feel even more rotten, which made him even angrier and more defensive, which in turn made him blame Steve more, and around and around he went until he was snapping, “If you’re not going to say anything, get out of here.”_

_“No,” Steve said obstinately.  “Not until you get up and come inside.”_

_“Jesus,” Tony spat, eyes burning.  “You know what today is, don’t you?”_

_“Sure I do.”_

_“Then what the hell do you want?  To tell me to get over it?  Tell me that Howard was a great man and I shouldn’t be so fucking bitter?  That Howard deserved a better son?  That he was your friend?  Huh?  That what you want?”  Tony stood, lifting his bottle with him and aiming to take a drink.  “Fuck that.  Go away.”_

_Steve caught his wrist, though.  His grip was firm and warm.  Tony looked down on him, annoyed.  Steve’s eyes were bright and blue and surprisingly full of compassion.  “Howard was a good man,” he said, “and my friend.”  Here came the condemnation.  Tony could practically feel it.  He made to yank his arm free.  “But that doesn’t mean he was a good father.”_

_Tony stopped trying to pull away.  “What?”_

_“I’m not leaving,” Steve said, and his other hand, a little red from the cold, came up and took the bottle from Tony’s fingers.  He set it to his side, far away.  “I’m not leaving because I’m your friend, too, and you don’t deserve this.”_

_Friend.  Hearing that felt good, not good in that way booze or sex or inventing made him feel good.  It was deeper than that, better than that.  Like something that could be more, if he’d let it be.  And hearing that someone thought he was_ worth _caring about, that he didn’t deserve the cold emptiness of this dark day and all his unspent grief and that damn bottle of Jack Daniels…  Steve’s fingers dug lightly into his wrist, and there was so much strength there, crushing strength.  Tony knew that.  He’d seen it on the battlefield, seen how much damage Steve could do.  But his touch now was nothing but tender.  “You’re not alone, Tony.”_

_For the first time in forever, he felt that.  Knew it.  Believed it._

_Steve smiled faintly.  “I…  I don’t know if I believe in God anymore.  Or fate.  But… I know I’m here for a reason.  And the only one that sticks with me is this: we’re together.”  His eyes were so blue, so open and earnest.  “All of us, but you and me especially.  Howard helped…  Well, he_ made _me, and you’re his son, and if that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does.  So no more of this.”_

_Tony shook his head, too surprised to say anything.  “Cap…”_

_Steve stood.  They weren’t close enough to embrace, not really.  This was the beginning of their beginning, the moment where Tony started to realize Steve meant so much more to him, that a lifetime of pain and loneliness had its answer.  That this,_ everything _, could be his, if he just let himself have it._

_So there was no hug.  Not yet.  But Steve took Tony’s frozen hand between his own and rubbed warmth into it and stared at him with those depthless eyes and smiled a smile that Tony later learned was just for him.  “Come in with me.  This isn’t you.”  That smile turned into a snarky grin.  “Besides, I hate the cold.”_

_Cold._   Tony cried out as he was dumped onto the ground.  He got a mouthful of snow and mud, his body aching with the miserable impact as he rolled to spit it out.  A boot slammed into his exposed midsection, its toe hooking under his ribs, and Tony gasped as what little air he had rushed from his chest.  He saw white and gray as he blinked tears from his eyes.  The snow laden woods and the river right in front of him.  They were on a hill, and there was a sharp drop dozens of feet high from the water swishing below.

_Dump him in the river._

“Oh, fuck,” Tony whimpered, looking down.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Stark?” one of the guards asked.  “Think that water might be a little on the chilly side?”

Chilly?  It was probably freezing, maybe a few degrees shy.  He’d be dead in minutes.  It wouldn’t even be hypothermia that’d kill him.  He wouldn’t be able to swim because of the cold.

And the minor fact his arms were still bound behind his back.  Tony got to his knees, the world spinning thanks to the concussion he probably had.  Still, he struggled with everything he had against the cuffs.  They were way too strong, and all he got for his troubles were freshly lacerated wrists and an even stronger thrum of panic in his heart.  The guards laughed.  “Should we shoot him?”

“Nah.  Let him drown.”

“No!” Tony shouted.  “Stop!  Don’t!  _Don’t do this!”_   The water swished before him, and it wasn’t even the thought of his own death that terrified him.  It was Steve’s fate.  Steve, trapped in Ty’s hellish nightmare, trapped in that _tank_ and feeding Ty’s addiction as long as he lived, which given the way Ty was running down his body, might not be that much longer.  He didn’t know if JARVIS had contacted the others, if he’d been able to reboot Iron Man, if _anyone_ knew what was happening here.  Even if Iron Man was functional, with his arms hindered like this, he couldn’t summon the suit.  He was helpless.  Desperation freed more words from his mouth.  “Whatever Stone’s paying you, I’ll double it.  Triple it.  Just don’t–”

“Rich man tries to pay us off,” one the men said.  “Any surprise there?”

“I don’t care about my life!  Kill me, just don’t let Ty take Captain America anywhere–”

The same guy decked Tony across the face.  Considering how battered his brain already felt, that shut him up pretty quick.  He was dazed and hurting as they grabbed his arms and carried him right to the edge.  A voice hissed in his ear.  “Pretty sure you can’t stop Mr. Stone from doing whatever he wants.  Have a nice swim.”  Tony barely had a chance to draw a deep breath before they pushed him off.

He hit the water a second later.  It was like slamming into cement.  Agony blasted over him, agony so strong he couldn’t do anything other than sink, both into the pain and the water.  It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a million icy knives stabbing all over his body.  Despite his panic, hanging onto consciousness was almost impossible with the jolt of awful cold all over him.  For an endless moment he was too stunned to move, too debilitated to _think._   Nerves misfired, a chaotic hell of his body failing, and he tried to suck in a breath before he realized what he was doing.  Water flooded his mouth and nose as the river dragged him down.  He struggled more on instinct than anything else, pulling at the cuffs around his hands, kicking wildly toward the faint light above that he thought might have been the surface.  But he couldn’t reach it.  The current grabbed him and hauled him away.

Each second was stretched, distorted, as he was sucked down the river, tumbling and flailing.  He went deeper, swept down, and his leg slammed into something.  Everything lurched as he stopped suddenly.  The current was still yanking at him, but he wasn’t going anywhere.  Some part of his brain that was still functioning realized why: he’d hit a fallen tree, and his foot was stuck like an anchor.  There was a second of relief that he’d stopped moving, that he could tell from the faint light again which way was up.  But it was still unreachable.  He pulled his leg up viciously, trying to free it, and twisted in the cuffs just as frantically.  Nothing gave.  He was lodged good and hard, still feet below the river’s surface, and precious moments went by in a blur of senseless struggling.

Tony knew he was drowning.  Squirming was wasting oxygen, wasting heat and energy, but he couldn’t stop himself.    His lungs burned, the only part of him that was warm and pulsing as the icy water invaded.  Everything throbbed in misery, and he stopped moving as hypoxia began to take him.  His vision dimmed, shadows swallowing the brown outline of the muddy tree, the tiny sparkles of daylight above.  Eventually all he could see was pale blue light.  The arc reactor in his chest.  He’d never really associated it with anything good until Steve.  To him it was nothing but a reminder of Afghanistan, of the Ten Rings and the torture he’d endured, of the shame he’d felt at learning what his weapons were really doing, of Yinsen’s death and his own suffering.  But Steve had always found comfort in it, had always liked the soft whir of it, the calming, peaceful glow.  He said once that at night it reminded him that he wasn’t alone, that Tony was right there, shining with a light all his own.

And that light was about to go out.  _A shared fate._   He could only hope someone else would save Steve and if not…  His eyes closed.  He prayed Steve died less painfully than this.

_I love you._

That should have been his last thought.  Would have been, only a splash thundered through the haze of numbness consuming him.  Tony jerked weakly as hands grabbed his arms and pulled.  When that didn’t work, the hands went down his body, scant sensations of fingers fumbling at his jeans and then his foot.  The laces of his shoe were undone, and his foot was pulled free, and then he felt like he was going up.  _Wake up.  Get up, Tony.  Wake up!_

He broke the surface with a gasp, sucking in a desperate, ragged breath.  His whole body came to life again, rebelling almost violently in an attempt to survive, and he quaked and gagged and choked.  An arm went around his chest, pulling him against something warm and sturdy.  “I got you, Tony!  I got you!”  As tinged with panic as it was, the voice was familiar.  _Clint._   Tony sagged in the archer’s grip.  “Hold on!”

A wisecrack crossed his mind about how difficult it was to do that with his hands tied, but he didn’t have the energy or spirit to make it.  He simply let Clint swim toward the shore, blinking blearily and reeling with the simple fact that he was alive, that there were a dozen SHIELD agents waiting, that the roar in his ears wasn’t just his heart pumping frenetically with renewed energy.  A SHIELD helicopter was hovering directly overhead, its side door open and a rescue basket being deployed.  “We’re going to get you out of here!”

A second or two later, they were free of the water.  Clint was surprisingly strong for a fairly short guy, and he hefted Tony into the basket without too much trouble before climbing in himself.  The chopper lifted them out of the river and up the drop to the woods above.  Clint had his arms around Tony, and they were both shivering like mad.  “I got you,” Clint kept promising, rubbing Tony’s soaked back as he coughed and choked and worked the water up and out of his body.  “It’s alright!  I got you!”

The agents in the chopper lowered the basket gently to the ground.  Natasha was there, flanked by SHIELD medical personnel, and they rushed to get Tony out.  Natasha whispered something harsh in Russian as she drew Tony’s quaking body into her arms.  “We need cutters!”

Tony moaned, the pain from it all coming on fast.  Hypothermia.  Hypoxia.  He buried his face into Natasha’s neck as she embraced him.  The medical people were all over him, bearing blankets and machines, taking his vitals and assessing how hurt he was.  One of the STRIKE members came with the cutters, and Natasha held Tony tighter.  “Stay still,” she murmured as the man settled behind his back, and a second later, he was free.

Tony’s arms hurt terribly as he rotated them forward, his wrists rubbed raw, the skin lilac and bloodied.  Natasha immediately caught his frigid hands and started rubbing his fingers gently.  “Are you alright?”

He twined his frozen fingers in her jacket.  “St-Steve–”

“We know,” she promised.  Her eyes were filled with a storm of emotion, but the brightest of it all was barely contained rage.  “JARVIS told us everything.”

“Need to get him,” Tony gasped, wincing miserably as the warmth of her body and the heated blankets started to work its way into his limbs.  “N-need to right now, Tash.  R-right now!  Ty’s – Ty’s taking him somewhere else!”

Clint had a blanket around his shoulders.  “Where?”

Tony shook his head.  “Don’t know.  Don’t know!  Have to get him out!”

Natasha looked over her shoulder, and Tony followed her gaze.  They were at least a couple miles away from the building.  The top of it was visible above the trees.  Tony had no idea they’d taken him so far.  _Fuck._   That meant more than a few minutes had passed.  That was long enough for Ty to take Steve anywhere. 

Natasha was raising her glove to her lips to speak into comms.  “I want all eyes on that building!  Nothing leaves!”  Overhead a couple of quinjets appeared, their engines roaring as they hovered over the area.  “STRIKE, we need the assault team on the move right now!  Tony! Tony, wait!”

Tony wasn’t going to wait.  He felt weak and wobbly, sick with pain and the cold, but he was pushing himself away from the arms around him, pushing himself to his feet.  One of the medics grabbed him.  “Mr. Stark, you’re suffering from hypothermia and you may have a concussion!  You need to let us get you out of here!”

 _Not a chance in hell._   Tony’s body was barely steady, barely functioning, but his mind was clear and determined.  He shrugged the restraining hands off and reached into his jeans pocket.  As wet as his phone was, the new water-resistant model had survived the jaunt down the river.  Not only that but JARVIS had made it broadcast his location, which explained how Clint and Natasha had been able to find him.  _Thank God._ It only took a tap of his thumb to call JARVIS.  “Sir, thank heavens,” JARVIS said in his ear.  “I thought–”

More hands grabbed at him, but he refused to let them stop him.  “Can you reboot the suit?”

“Already done.  It’s en route.”

“How long has it been?  How long?”

“Approximately twenty minutes.”

That was too much time.  He knew he should have been grateful he’d only been out of it that long and that they’d only taken him this far away from the building.  But he wasn’t.  He was just as panicked now as he had been in that hellish lab.  He pulled away, stumbling and falling to his knees.

“Tony.  Tony!”  Now the hands were Natasha’s.  He pushed himself up in the snow, trying to escape her hold, but she wasn’t about to let go so easily.  “Tony, stop!  You need to rest.  You’ve been through a terrible shock.”

“Stone’s not getting away,” Clint said, taking his arm.  His eyes were hard with fury.  “I can fucking well guarantee that.  He’s about to become the most wanted man in the world.  We’re going to catch him.”

“We’ll get Steve,” Natasha swore firmly.  “We will.  I swear to you.  But you need to–”

Iron Man streaked through the sky, a sonic boom shattering the gray afternoon as the suit shot toward them.  Tony staggered away from the SHIELD personnel and raised his arms spread-eagle.  The armor dissembled instantly, triggered by Tony’s motion, and enclosed him, dropping down piece by piece, greaves and chestplate and gauntlets and boots.  The helmet closed over him last, the faceplate snapping down.  “He took Steve from me, from us,” he hissed through the suit, glaring at his friends.  “I’m going to take him back.”

He flew high and fast into the sky.  Nothing was going to stop him.

* * *

“Talk to me, JARVIS,” Tony snarled as he led the SHIELD aircraft in a low flight above the Alaskan woods, “and turn on the heat.”  The armor’s interior immediately warmed up to a temperature that eased the throbbing deep-set into Tony’s bones.  It did nothing to appease the rage and desperation in his heart, though.  Ice had settled there, and it was vicious.  “Where are they?” 

“They are taking Captain Rogers via a truck convoy,” JARVIS declared.  “It’s heading south towards Fairbanks.”  JARVIS brought up a map of the area, and there winding down through the steep hills and dense woods was a road.  A glowing line traced the convoy’s path from the research building.  Now it was miles away.  “Unfortunately for Mr. Stone but quite fortunate for us, choosing such a remote location has its drawbacks.”

 _Like making it hard to escape with your prize._   Tony gritted his teeth.  “Romanoff, Barton, you see it?”

“We see it,” Clint groused in his ear.  He was flying one of the quinjets not far behind Iron Man.  It had taken only a couple minutes for the SHIELD agents to form up and get airborne.  As short as it was, waiting for them to be ready had been hellish.  Tony had gritted his teeth and done it, though.  This time he wasn’t taking _any_ chance.  Accordingly, some of the SHIELD STRIKE Team had gone to the building to secure it just in case this was a ruse and arrest anyone they found.  Tony didn’t suspect they’d find much resistance there, not given the size of the convoy.

And he didn’t think this was another trick.  Ty was taking Steve again, taking Steve right in front of him.  He wasn’t going to let that happen.  “Coming up on them!” he shouted as the HUD flashed red and zoomed in on their target.

As the line of vehicles got closer, it unfortunately became obvious what they were facing.  The convoy was a half a dozen strong, all armored and weaponized Humvees and SUVs.  Clint grunted unhappily.  “Fuck.  That’s a lot of fire power for a CEO.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.  The convoy was armed to the teeth, and it was organized as to protect the middle vehicle.  That was a tractor trailer, huge and black, and it had to be where they were keeping Steve.  Everything was shielded; Iron Man’s IR scans were immediately deflected, so there was no way to be certain.  Still, it made sense.  It was protected by the vehicles in front and behind it, and it was big enough to keep a super soldier contained.  Of course, Steve had hardly been in any sort of shape to struggle, but Ty said he’d fought hard against his captors in the past, and Tony didn’t think Ty would take chances.  Not with half the Avengers and a SHIELD assault team on his tail.  “Steve has to be in the truck!” he shouted.

“Roger that,” Natasha replied.  “Listen up, STRIKE!  Captain Rogers is likely being held in the trailer!  Exercise extreme caution!  They’re moving fast and the road’s narrow!”  The drop off the side of the road was steep, at least forty feet down with thick woods lining the fall.  At these speeds, the truck tipping was certainly a possibility.  It would be catastrophic to the people inside.  “We need to protect that truck above everything else!  Clear the guarding vehicles and secure it!”

Tony wouldn’t put it above Ty to blow the truck just to spite them, to kill Steve just so no one else could _have him._   He forced more speed out of the suit’s thrusters, breaking away from the SHIELD jets and rocketing through the snowy clouds with the crack of a sonic boom.  Blasting over the convoy, he got out ahead of them.  Then he dove low, too furious to be afraid or worried now, and landed with enough force to shake the ground.  The lead SUV was barreling toward him; obviously the driver had opted for running him down than swerving to avoid him.  Tony gritted his teeth and raised the palm repulsors.  JARVIS flooded them with energy, and the twin beams shot forward, striking the car in the front.  The SUV’s thicker body protected it from the blast, but it was still knocked back.  Wheels skidded in the snow it fish-tailed wildly.  Tony twisted as little, disengaging the repulsors to launch a missile from the right arm compartment.  That hit the car’s side as it spun, and it was stronger than the SUV’s plating could handle.  When it detonated, the car erupted in a ball of fire.  The whole thing twisted off the road and tumbled down the ravine to the left.

_One down._

The Humvee behind it raced toward him.  A man in a turret atop it operated a minigun, and it was spitting bullets at Tony in a violent spray.  The shots clanked off the suit, but these were significantly stronger and Tony had to fight not to lose ground.  “Engaging!” he heard Clint cry, and quinjet raced overhead, its own minigun rotating to take out the soldier shooting as it passed.  The soldier went down, collapsing into the Humvee.

That didn’t stop the car, though.  They had to stop the whole fucking convoy.  Tony let loose a volley of repulsor blasts, jetting off the ground and backing up along the winding road.  Every one of his shots struck uselessly against the Humvee’s plating.  “Coming around again!” Clint hollered, and the quinjet’s engines roared overhead as the archer brought the aircraft about.  Natasha never got a chance to shoot at the Humvee, though, because further down the convoy, an RPG blasted toward them.  Tony tried to shoot it out of the sky, but he was too slow with both the concussion and the cold still consuming him.  Clint was forced to pull up to avoid the rocket, and it struck the trees behind them instead with a deafening bang and a spray of pine needles, mud, and flames.  “Shit!”

“We need air support at the rear of the convoy!” Natasha shouted.  “SHIELD 316, take down whoever’s firing at us!”

“Roger that!”

On the tactical map in the corner of the HUD, Tony saw the SHIELD helicopter catch up with the speeding line of trucks.  He couldn’t watch more, not with another RPG careening toward them.  This one hit the hillside to the right, sending soil and trees into the air.  That seemed really stupid; they were running the risk of blocking the road, hindering their own escape.  Tony wasn’t about to feel relieved at their own foolishness, though, not with another Humvee joining the first.  They were driving side by side now, careening toward him and taking up the entire width of the road as they protected the truck.  The second one was equipped with missile launcher, which the soldiers fired with abandon.  _Great._ He twisted around, flying ahead on the narrow road faster, giving up more ground to avoid the massive artillery being fired at him.  Heavy gunfire battered him anew, and explosions tore up the road.  “Fucking hell,” he swore, watching as damage warnings appeared all over the HUD.

“Stark!” Clint cried out.  “We need to–”

“I know!”  They had to break up this pair of cars.  Clint pulled up before they could do any damage to the quinjet, one of the anti-aircraft missiles chasing the aircraft away again.  Tony twisted back and forth to present a harder target.  He was flying backwards at break-neck speeds and unloading his own arsenal.  It was difficult to aim like this, with him flying maniacally and the two Humvees driving just as maniacally.  RPGs flew past him, so fast they were almost untraceable.  They weren’t fucking around with their weapons, but neither was he.  His own missiles missed the cars and struck the road, exploding against the asphalt and tearing huge ruts into it.  Snow and ice burst into the air.  The cars swerved, but the truck wasn’t nearly so agile, so it roared over the holes.  They tore at the tires, and one went flat.  More warnings flashed all over the HUD about destroying the road and risking the truck’s stability.  “Shit!  Don’t blow the road!  Don’t blow the road!”

Immediately Natasha backed off the quinjet’s guns.  “We can’t pierce their plating without more firepower!”

 _Goddamn it._ Losing his patience, Tony twisted around.  Shifting the suit’s thrusters so quickly was nauseating, but he grimaced against the vertigo and rushed forward into the barrage of enemy fire instead of away.  JARVIS automatically compensated with the flight control, calculating exactly the angle and speed necessary to land on them as they barreled down the road toward him.

“Sir, look out!”

An RPG was in his face before he could get out of the way.  It struck his chestplate before detonating, and he was thrown back, tossed violently into the woods.  The world spun in dizzying circles until he hit a tree hard.  Pain exploded up his back and chest.  He tasted blood and cried out from the brutal impact.  The trunk cracked, and the canopy of pine needles came right down on top of him, crushing him down into the ravine.  He was tangled in the remains of the tree, falling through the snow, fighting to right himself and fire the suit’s stabilizers to stop his descent.  With a roar, he finally did, blasting his way free of the prison of tree branches.

“Tony!  Tony!”  Natasha was yelling in his ear, loud above the thunder of his pulse and the alarms blaring inside the suit.  “Tony, are you alright?”

“Yeah!”  _Fuck._   “Yeah, I’m fine!  Stay on it!  Stay on it!”  He righted himself, breathing heavily, and glanced at the damage reports.  The structural integrity of the armor was down to 50%.  Growling in fury, he threw more power into the boot jets and rocketed into the sky, chasing down the convoy where it had raced past him.  _You’re not getting away._ He zig-zagged his way through the woods and streaked past the trailer.  _You’re not taking him from me._   The Humvees were ahead, both of them shooting at the quinjet, keeping Clint and Natasha from getting any closer.  _You’re not taking him again!_

Tony shouted wordlessly and dropped atop the hood of the Humvee.  The attack took the driver completely by surprise, and he swerved wildly, trying to dislodge Iron Man from the front of the car.  Tony wasn’t going anywhere.  With JARVIS guiding him, he shot quickly, blasting the asshole manning the gun turret.  The guy peppered him with the minigun before Tony managed to aim around the turret’s armored plating, and the HUD wailed with more and more alarms from the high-powered strikes right to his already damaged chestplate.  Tony groaned, the armor rattling and the impacts bruising.  He didn’t let it slow him down, though.  Staggering as he tried to maintain his balance, he kicked at the reinforced windshield of the Humvee.  It didn’t give.  “Son of a bitch!”

“Sir, the turret!”

Firing the boot jets again for an extra boost, he climbed up the windshield and punched at the soldier floundering to aim to the minigun.  The man went down with a cry and a splatter of blood.  Tony grabbed the gun and wrenched it right from its mounts, tossing it away.  Then he was absolutely merciless, shooting down the hole with Iron Man’s repuslors.  The Humvee beside him swung its missile launcher, but it was too late.  Tony jumped away from the vehicle, leaving it wildly out of control with a dead driver, and the narrow road that curving around a bend at just that moment proved to be their undoing.  The Humvee slammed into the one beside it, jolting it and shoving them both toward the trees lining the drop into the ravine.  The soldier operating the missile launcher made a desperate shot at Tony, but the projectile went wide, colliding with the adjacent car.  They both exploded.

Tony landed in front of the rolling, fiery mess as it slid closer to the edge.  “Status!” he barked, trying to ignore the damage done to the suit that JARVIS was shoving in front of his eyes.

“Coming around!” Clint answered.

There was no time.  The tractor trailer was already right there, thundering down the road, its engine roaring loudly as it drove precariously close to the edge.  It was taking the bend way too fast; the trailer seemed to tip as it did, and JARVIS filled the HUD with warnings and probabilities about the truck overturning.  Tony moved without thinking, taking to the air again and flying as fast as he could to catch the side of the truck as it tipped toward the edge.  _No!_ He pushed back against it, fighting with all the strength he had to keep it steady.  Thankfully he did.  Despite the burning wreckage in front of it and Iron Man trying to hold it upright, the truck continued to race down the road.

A second later its balance was better and its wheels on the other side were safely back on the road.  “Damn it!” Tony hissed in frustration as he let go and flew above it.  He rocketed forward, pouring all the speed he could into the flight, before slamming down into the snowy road a good fifty feed ahead.  There he stood a moment, panting like mad, holding his palm repulsors up and trying to think.   _Gotta stop it._   Frustration and dizziness and so much fucking desperation left him reeling as he watched the truck race toward him.  He couldn’t shoot.  He couldn’t see a way to do that and protect the trailer and its precious cargo.  _Stop, stop, stop!_ The truck was coming straight at him, tons of steel moving at more than fifty miles an hour, and he had _no_ chance of stopping that, not without destroying it.  And that was not an option.

So he flew up and out of the way with a helpless sob, and the truck simply charged past where he’d been.  Tony barely cleared the area as something else exploded behind him.  The fight behind them was raging.  “We need to stop this thing!”

“I’m open to suggestions!” Clint said.  The forest was denser here, the trees crowded closer together around the road, so he’d gone higher again.  “We can chase them to their final destination!  These fuckers aren’t getting away!”

No way were they chancing that.  Tony ground his teeth together, racing back down and after the truck.  The remaining Humvees immediately opened fire on him.  “Get these bastards off!” he ordered, and the SHIELD aircraft floundered to provide some aid.  Thankfully the Humvees were reticent about missing Iron Man and hitting the truck; with Tony in between them, they weren’t shooting so wildly and wantonly.  That was just as well.  “JARVIS, if we can’t stop it, we need to get in it!  In the trailer!”

“Sir, the armor plating is thick, more than a meter.  You cannot breach it without risking serious damage to the inside.”

Tony struggled with his panic.  His fucking _helplessness._ “Then _what?_ ”

For a moment, JARVIS was simply silent.  Bullets striking along his back had Tony twisting around once more to shoot behind him.  He caught sight of both the SHIELD chopper and the quinjet in pursuit.  They were firing at the other armored vehicles, which in turn were trying to destroy Tony, and Tony’s frustration was almost unbearable.  “I’m going to be able to do anything unless you get these assholes off me!”

“SHIELD airstrike is inbound in one minute,” Natasha declared.  Tony could have collapsed in relief, but instead he had to go higher to avoid more gunfire.  The barrage of bullets hit the back of the trailer instead, driving dents into the reinforced steel.  Every blow to the trailer was one they couldn’t afford.  “Tony, we need some distance between the truck and the Humvees!”

It killed Tony to pull further away from the truck, but he had to, rising upward to twist around.  He unloaded a barrage of missiles at the remaining Humvees.  These weren’t as highly powered as his others, so most wouldn’t do any much damage with the vehicles’ armor, but a few hit hard.  The bigger thing was it pushed the Humvees back because they slowed and swerved like crazy to avoid the attack.  Tony kept up the fire as much as he could, driving them back, emptying out his arsenal of auxiliary weapons.

An unfamiliar voice broke over the comm link.  “Avengers, this is SHIELD Alpha Six.  Clear the zone!”

Tony waited until the last possible second until JARVIS showed him the Harrier jets were a breath and a blink away.  Then he let up, ignoring warnings about how much energy and weaponry the suit had left.  He jetted high, tracking the quinjet and choppers as they pulled away as well.  The four Harrier shrieked across the slate sky, cutting through the clouds and snow, and blowing the rest of the rear of the convoy to hell.

There wasn’t much left when the jets completed their pass.  The Humvees and SUVs were nothing more than flaming carcasses still sliding and rolling down the road.  While that was fairly comforting to see, Tony supposed it’d be too much to hope that Ty had been in any of the destroyed cars.  Not likely, considering the semi picked up its speed more, using its momentum to thunder even faster down the hill.  Tony zoomed after it.

“Advise on the truck, over,” the same pilot said.  “Do we engage?”

Even though Tony knew they wouldn’t without authorization, his heart pounded in terror and he shouted, “No!  There’s a prisoner in the trailer!”

“Negative, SHIELD Alpha Six,” Natasha said sternly.  “We need an escort, but under no circumstances are you to engage the semi.  Do not fire until ordered.”

“Roger that.”

“Sir,” JARVIS said softly, “I believe I may have devised a plan.”

Tony’s heart leapt, and he pressed close to the side of the speeding truck again, keeping pace with it.  “Tell me.”

A schematic of the truck appeared on the HUD.  “The trailer and the cab are shielded and armored, but they seem to be connected the same way any tractor and trailer typically are.  They can be separated by pulling the kingpin from the fifth wheel.”

Tony didn’t need the animated demonstration.  He understood the basics of how to couple a tractor to a trailer.  “Do I need to remind you that this thing is going almost sixty miles an hour?  And we don’t want to cause it to jackknife!”

“About a mile ahead, the road levels off.  The terrain is flatter and devoid of significant vegetation.  The threat of the tractor being toppled will be lower.  This is still quite dangerous, but I believe it is the best option for quickly stopping the vehicle.”

Now Tony saw where this was going.  If they couldn’t force the truck to stop without destroying it…  “Natasha, Clint, stand by.  I’m gonna detach the trailer.”

“Tony, wait–”

“I can do this!”  As the truck reached the frozen plain, the monotonous, white expanse of it stretching all around them, Tony landed on the top of the trailer.

JARVIS immediately magnetized his boots to aid in stability as he worked his way forward.  “You will need Agent Barton to attempt to pull or push the trailer forward to relieve the tension.  Otherwise the weight will prevent you from pulling the pin.”

“You hear that, Clint?” Tony shouted.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to do _that?_ ”

 _Oh, hell…_   “Exactly the way JARVIS said.  Give it a little push.”

A few seconds later, everything was in position.  The driver was gunning it now, the semi tearing down the straight road, kicking up snow behind it in a swirl.  The quinjet was directly behind the truck, flying as low but high enough so that the driver couldn’t see him and keeping pace.  Tony could practically feel his friends vibrating with worry and with good reason.  The plan was shitty and dangerous, no doubt about it, but there was no time, not with Steve trapped in there and at Ty’s mercy.  The SHIELD jets and choppers were dropping back even further, maintaining some distance, trying not to goad the truck’s driver into any sudden movements.  Sudden movements right now would be bad.

Particularly with him dropping down into the small, tight gap between the cab and the trailer.  There was more equipment there than he would have expected, and he wasn’t sure what all of it was.  He figured it was likely enhanced power relays in order to feed whatever they had in the trailer.  He was going to need to blow them first.  The release was on the side to his right, below and mere inches away from those massive, rapidly turning wheels.  Tony jetted up to the top.  He was only going to get one chance at this.  “Keep everything steady!” he yelled.

“Not like we can control that!” Clint returned, and the tension in his voice was palpable.  “This is insane, Stark.  Fucking certifiable.”

Tony couldn’t argue with that.  He swallowed thickly.  “J, you need to manage the flight systems.  The second I pull that release–”

“I will be ready, sir.”

Then he drew a deep breath, praying he was strong enough to do this, and jumped off the side of the trailer.  The thrusters in the suit fired, immediately bringing him to the speed of the truck.  Tony glanced ahead for a second, just to make sure everything was clear.  There was nothing but flat land and snow.  He flew closer to the spinning wheels, using Iron Man’s scanners to guide him.  The bottom of the truck wasn’t quite as shielded, and he spotted the release handle.  _Please, let this work…_   He had to practically cling to the side of the truck to reach it, JARVIS handling the trajectory of the boot thrusters to keep him level.  Tony gathered himself with a breath.  “You ready?”

Clint didn’t sound pleased at all.  “Ready.”

Tony blinked the sweat from his eyes and steadied his breathing.  _You can’t do this.  Steve needs you.  Bring him home.  He needs you._ “On three.”  _He loves you.  He needs you._ “One…  Two…”

_Save him._

“Three!”

Immediately Clint dropped the quinjet down the rest of the way, barely a few feet off the ground.  The rotors roared as he throttled quickly forward.  Tony reminded himself to buy Clint a bottle of wine later; his piloting was pretty amazing.  A moment later, the nose of the jet gently _nudged_ the back of the trailer and _pushed_.  _Holy shit._   The second Clint did that and the tension was off the pin, Tony reached under and yanked the release handle.  The fifth wheel unlocked.

Tony was too fucking shocked it could be so easy, that there weren’t failsafe mechanisms or who knew what, that it _worked_ , to do anything for a second.  Then he snapped out of it.  “Trailer’s detached!” he cried.  “Pull up!  Pull up!”  Natasha and Clint were responding, but he didn’t listen.  His mind was blank with determination.  There was no time now.  With JARVIS’ help, he shot forward, upward, and then back down into that narrow gap between the trailer and the cab.  This was where his plan would either work or fail, and it was too late to go back.  If the driver started to turn or move…  _You’re not taking him from me again.  Not ever again._

_Never._

Tony raised his palm repulsors, blasted the power couplings so the last connection between the cab and trailer was severed.  The trailer already started to drift and wobble, and Tony jolted in panic, getting his hands beneath the edge where it rested over the axle of the truck, and _lifted._

JARVIS immediately did his part.  He fired the thrusters in Iron Man’s boots enough to get Tony off the narrow spot.  Getting the angle just right was key here; he needed to lift and push, keep the trailer from falling at sixty mph into the ground while slowing it down.  Tony cried out in pain.  The suit could lift more than a hundred tons, but at this speed?  With all that force behind it?

_I’ve got you, baby._

Tony’s shout turned into a scream of effort, his body shaking inside Iron Man as JARVIS poured all the power left into the thrusters, into maintaining the suit’s structural integrity.  Sweat poured into Tony’s eyes.  He could see from the right corner of the HUD that it was working, that the distance between the tractor and the trailer was increasingly rapidly, that the trailer was _slowing down_.  Less than fifty miles an hour.  Less than forty.  _This was working._   It hurt like hell and he could practically feel the suit failing, but it was working.  JARVIS determined the thrust in the opposite direction could be cut, so he disengaged the boot jets.  Tony dropped his legs onto the road, managed to push upward with better leverage even as his feet scraped across the asphalt and tore violently into it.  The shriek of metal was awful, and the trailer dented and moaned.  Still, the hulk of it slowed further.  Less than thirty miles an hour.  Twenty.

Ahead of him the tractor had realized it had lost the trailer, and it was suddenly braking hard.  Turned as he was with his back to it, Tony couldn’t see it coming, but warnings covered the HUD about the imminent impact.  “Tony, watch out!” Natasha shouted in a frantic warning.  “Tony!”  Other people were yelling too, JARVIS and Clint, but Tony couldn’t track the words, couldn’t parse what they were saying.  There wasn’t anything he could do, not bearing the weight of the front end of the trailer as he was.  The tractor was screeching to a stop ahead of him.  It was going to ram him and smash him between it and the trailer.

There was an even louder roar.  Horrified, Tony spared a glance over his shoulder and saw that the quinjet had dropped down again and was in between him and the incoming tractor.  The whir of the minigun and the whoosh of missiles were almost inaudible over the deafening pounding of his pulse and the sound of squealing metal.  Tony choked on his breath, turning back to the trailer.  He was dizzy with panic, and he dug his boots harder into the road and pushed with everything he had left to stop the trailer.  He had to stop the trailer _now_.  JARVIS was shouting that.  Immediately the AI started calculating the distance left until the collision and the time to impact and _I’m going to hit!_

He didn’t, though.  There was another whir that Tony recognized as the sound of the jet’s rotors speeding up and tilting.  He held his breath for a split second, terrified, before there was a horrific bang and the squeal of metal on metal and a rush of force against his back.  It took his beleaguered brain a second to realize what was happening, that the jet was _crashing_ into the truck.  Again he glanced over his shoulder.  _Holy shit!_ The whole wreck of the tractor and the jet rolled left, the aircraft’s port turbine spinning hard and fast to shift the entire thing off the road as much as possible.  Tony squeezed his eyes shut against the heat washing over him as the trailer’s nearly depleted momentum pushed him into to the fire, but there was only that: fire.  The debris was out of the way.

A few harrowing seconds later, it was done.  The trailer was finally stopped.  Tony couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stand there and support its front end so it didn’t tip.  He cried out in pain and horror, shaking with the weight.  The cab and the quinjet were burning like mad just beside him, flames shooting high into the sky.  _Natasha.  Clint._ Christ, they’d…  They’d flown the jet into the tractor to stop it from hitting him and the trailer.  They’d _sacrificed_ themselves.  Nobody could have survived that!  _No, God!_ Tony was so lost in grief and confusion that he hardly even noticed as the SHIELD choppers set down around the area, as STRIKE soldiers flooded the scene and formed a perimeter around the trailer.

And he hardly noticed Clint coming to stand beside him until the HUD registered the weight he could barely stand to hold anymore shifting slightly.  “Holy shit,” the archer gasped.  “This is heavy!  Need more help here!”  Tony twisted as much as he could, and Clint gave a shaking, wry smile.  “That AI of yours is a hell of a co-pilot!”

He still didn’t understand, but he couldn’t think now.  They needed to get the trailer stabilized.  A slew of STRIKE soldiers came to try and bear some of the weight, which was good because between his relief and the sore, miserable exhaustion bringing him down, Tony didn’t know how much longer he could hold it.  There was shouting, and on the sides of the trailer the STRIKE personnel were working to get the metal feet lowered to the ground.  He could hear Natasha yelling, rushing the process along as much as possible.  Sweat poured down his face, and he trembled with the strain, muscles feeling as though they were about to rupture even with the suit protecting them.  Even with the help of the others, he was still bearing almost all the weight.  Blood rushed in his ears, and it seemed to take forever.

It was only a couple seconds, though.  “Let it go!” Natasha yelled, and all the men supporting it did with groans, stepping away as it settled onto the snowy road.  It didn’t fall or even tip.  It was steady.  _Safe._

Tony nearly doubled over, the relief so sharp it hurt.  He gasped a sob as he grabbed Clint’s shoulders.  “I thought–”

Natasha ran up to them, taking both their arms.  There wasn’t a mark on her.  “Tony, are you–”

“God, how are you alive?” Tony whispered in shock.  He pulled her closer, too, desperate to be sure.

“Nat and I bailed out before JARVIS used the jet as a shield,” Clint explained, breathless but unhurt.  Tony floundered mindlessly a moment more, the suit’s sensors spilling information frantically across the HUD.  _They’re not hurt!_   What had happened was finally sinking in.  JARVIS had _remotely_ piloted the quinjet while helping him stop the trailer.

JARVIS had saved the day apparently.  He could have cried.  “Jesus, J…”

“Sir, Captain Rogers!”

_Steve._

Tony jolted into motion.  SHIELD had completely surrounded the area, the STRIKE Team forming a perimeter and the Harrier jets hovering in the air menacingly.  He pushed through the soldiers at the rear of the trailer.  Clint had his bow drawn and an arrow nocked as he followed, and Natasha kept close, face hard and stern and gun drawn.  She was extremely worried, glancing at Tony every chance she got.  Somewhere under his own terror Tony noticed that.  He also noticed his suit was in rough shape.  It was badly dented and scraped and singed.  Damage warnings flashed all over the HUD, as well as cautionary blurbs about nearly depleted energy levels and weapons reserves.  He didn’t care, though.  Not about any of that.  He needed to get Steve out.

The STRIKE Team came to the back of the trailer, rifles raised and at the ready.  One of the soldiers slapped a small explosive to the thick doors.  There was no warning, no fanfare, just the device detonating and blowing through the doors.

Immediately a volley of gunfire burst outward.  Tony was right there, cold and harsh as he shot down the soldiers inside the trailer with his repulsors.  He levitated up and onto the trailer bed, weapons crackling with energy.  Despite the darkness inside, he was instantly able to locate the rest of the guards and the few doctors, their IR signatures bright on the HUD.  He shot them down too, ruthlessly so, and in a blink the trailer’s occupants were all unconscious or dead on the floor.

Natasha and Clint climbed up to stand beside him.  They said nothing, faces stiff with rage and fear as they stalked deeper into the trailer.  There was a pod in the center of it, one that was welded to the floor.  Monitors and computers were around it.  Some were toppled.  They were all dark or flashing warnings about power failure.  Natasha was the one who lost her patience and rushed forward to the pod.  “He’s here!” she cried, voice breaking in relief and desperation.  “We need medical!”

Tony was right behind her, heart speeding anew in relief, only he never made it much further inside.  Natasha suddenly cried out.  It was like a ghost attacked her, her head slamming down into the edge of the pod.  She slumped, her guns clattering into the shadows.  Clint whirled, firing an arrow but it was at nothing because _no one was there._   At least, it didn’t seem so until some invisible force tackled him, ramming him into the side of the trailer with a rattle.  The archer went down, too.  His body lurched and twisted like he was being struck, kicked.  Tony stared a moment in stupefaction, his senses too scattered and stricken to make sense of it.

Then he did.  It was the Chameleon, the stealth suit.  _Ty._

Iron Man’s sensors detected nothing, nothing _at all_ , when he was rammed.  He flew backward out of the truck and crashed into the snowy ground.  The collision rattled his bones, and he lay there, spent and hurting.  Distantly he heard the staccato punches of guns, and when he managed to get himself rolled over and his eyes to focus again, he saw the STRIKE Team trying to fight an invisible foe on the road in front of him.  “JARVIS,” Tony groaned, pushing himself to his feet.

“It is him, sir,” JARVIS replied, “and I would wager him stealing the serum’s power from Captain Rogers has amplified his speed and strength.”

He’d thought that down in the lab before, but actually facing it now…  _Goddamn it!_ Tony rushed into the fray.  One of the STRIKE soldiers went down, punched twice in quick succession before being thrown into the back of the trailer.  It was crazy, watching the grenade moving off the soldier’s belt, watching the pin seemingly pull itself loose, watching the explosive being tossed toward the other men.  The soldiers scrambled before being blown off their feet.

And Tony charged.

Christ, this was impossible.  Ty immediately started striking him, and the hits were hard but pretty imprecise.  Obviously Steve’s prowess with martial arts hadn’t exactly transferred with his biochemical energy.  Still, even though Tony had faced off against far more talented opponents in the past, not being able to see his enemy was a challenge, and his armor was so damn damaged that he could hardly keep up.  He was always one step behind, one second too late, and the next blow hit before he could deflect it.  Iron Man wasn’t terribly proficient at hand-to-hand combat normally, so this was a problem.

It got worse when the STRIKE Team tried to help by shooting at them.  They couldn’t see Ty any better than he could, nothing more than occasional footprints and smears in the snow.  The soldiers’ bullets tore uselessly into the ground and smashed against Iron Man.  A couple got close, though.  Tony could tell because they deflected, the Chameleon’s energy field changing the air just a tad as it drove the shots away.  Before he could really process that, a blow drove into his midsection, hard enough to batter his already tender chest, and Tony gasped.  His legs were swept out from under him, and he fell down hard onto his back.  A foot stepped onto his arm, crushing it into the snow.

The gray stealth suit suddenly appeared, skin-tight over prominent muscles.  The mask was simple, completely gray but with black eye spots.  It was only obvious that it was Ty by the way he was looming over Tony, by the voice.  “Come on, Tones.  You can do better than this, right?  You keep bragging about being an Avenger.”  The mask hardly shifted as he spoke, but Tony could just picture that sneer.  “So you gotta work if you want him back.”

Tony howled in frustration, whipping his other arm up and firing the repulsor.  The Chameleon vanished again like it had never been there at all, and the only sign of its presence was the repulsor beam crashing against the energy field.  The SHIELD soldiers fired again, too, and bullets went every which way.  One was deflected enough that it hit one of the other men, and the guy gave a bloody cry as he fell from the friendly fire.  “Back off!” Tony cried to the others.  “Hold your fire!”  The soldiers obeyed, reforming a perimeter, eyes dark with anger and crackling frustration.  “JARVIS, we have to find a way to see him!  Motion detection!  Infrared!  _Something!”_

JARVIS was solemn, almost scared.  “The Chameleon polymer is untraceable.”

 _There has to be away!_ Tony pushed up to his feet, and the rain of blows started anew, coming from nowhere, from _everywhere,_ and he was too damn slow to defend himself.  He stumbled over his own feet as Ty drove him back away from the trailer and closer to the massive wreck burning just beside it.  “Jesus!”

The HUD registered more damage, particularly to the chestplate.  Tony tasted blood.  “You cannot defeat him like this!” JARVIS exclaimed.  Tony fired his repulsors again, but the shots were useless.  _Fuck!_   “You are wasting energy!  Levels are nearly–”

Ty threw him into the fire.  Tony landed hard, and Iron Man immediately registered the temperature increase.  It wasn’t hot enough to hurt him, but it was pretty damn hot.  Tony rolled back to his feet, shooting at where JARVIS had calculated Ty could be.  His strikes hit nothing, and Ty laughed.  “Oh, Tony,” he said.  “You never see things that are right in front of your nose.”

The punch to his face knocked him back again.  The taste of blood got worse, and Tony reeled, dizzy and suffering.  As he did, though, tripping through the flames and burning wreckage, Ty’s arm must have passed through the fire.  The Chameleon reacted as it should, the energy field bending the flames around the suit.  There were those waves again, that odd distortion.

Suddenly it clicked.  _The other cameras with the distortion…_   The ones in the hallways of the New Venture, the ones that had evidence of the wavy swirls _before_ the explosion.  That had to be Ty getting down to the generator room.  Scoping things out.  Laying the trap.  Plotting it.And the cameras _recorded_ the suit moving through the rig.

 _Because it wasn’t working right._ “Didn’t Galloway’s suit have a flaw?”

The next punch sent him flying back into the fire again.  JARVIS was flummoxed.  “Sir?”

“A flaw!  Some sort of traceable EM signature!  That’s how we can track it!”  Tony barely got onto his knees before a barrage of blows struck him. Ty drove him back through the blaze, back into the remains of the quinjet.  Only half the aircraft was burning, and the other half was basically sitting in a slick of oil and jet fuel.  Tony stumbled against the side of it.  “Ty probably stole the suit before Galloway fixed it!  _JARVIS!”_

“I have Galloway’s notes!  Working, sir!”

 _Fucking work faster!_   Tony ducked, misjudging from where the next strike was coming and ending up slammed back into the cracked fuselage of the jet.  “You don’t get it, do you?” Ty said.  “You lost.  I won.  He’s _mine_.”  The urge to let all of the remaining weapons he had loose on Ty was so damn strong, but he held back, because if JARVIS found a way to track him, Tony would probably only have one shot at hitting him with everything he had left.  A kick landed at his knee, nearly driving his leg from beneath him, and he went down onto the oily ground.

“And you know what else?”  The voice was coming from straight in front of him, and he swung up his fist, but it struck nothing.  “When I was draining him dry?  When he was suffering so much he couldn’t even remember his own name?  He remembered you.  He cried for you.  Screamed for you.  _Begged_ for you.  Over and over and over again.”  Rage exploded through Tony, and he punched repeatedly.  Nothing landed.  Nothing _ever_ landed.  Ty laughed, and Tony was so lost in pain and desperation that it seemed the voice came from _everywhere._ “I don’t think he even realized he was doing it.  Like everything else was stripped away and all that was left was how much he needed you.  Love, huh?  And here I thought it was just that he’s a nice piece of ass.”

“Sir, I have it!”

The HUD filled with data as JARVIS adjusted Iron Man’s sensors.  The EM radiation wasn’t all that different from the filter they used on the video to see the suit before in his workshop.  The visual field flashed, and the Chameleon appeared _right there_ , right in front of him and to the left.

Tony roared in fury, hot tears blinding him again, and balled his hand into a fist.  He swung hard and fast, and the hit landed with a satisfying _thunk._   Ty gasped in surprise and pain, stumbling back.  Tony rounded on him, hitting again and again, not holding back at all even as Ty tried to use the suit’s energy field to protect himself.  “You sick bastard!” Tony cried hoarsely, grabbing him, punching, kicking, twisting him around, throwing him into the side of the quinjet.  Now he let it all go, all the pain and rage and grief, _a year’s worth of anguish._   A year lost to hurting and hating himself.  A year Steve had spent _suffering_.  A year of their life together that Ty had _stolen._   He released it all, a ragged scream pouring from his mouth as the repulsor beams left his palms.  They struck hard, driving Ty against the mangled quinjet.  Ty was trying to bring the suit’s defenses up, but they weren’t going to be enough.  _Tony didn’t stop._

Eventually Ty reappeared, the suit probably losing power as it poured everything into its energy shields.  He sagged against the side of the quinjet.  “Tony, please!  Please!” he sputtered.  He raised his hands in obvious surrender.  “Please!”

Tony cut off the repulsors, glaring at the other man.  Fire crackled and burned all around them.  There was no escape.  Ty braced his hands on his knees, doubled over and gasping.  He looked up.  “Please don’t,” he whispered.  _Begged._   “I’ll give him back.  He’s yours.  He’s yours!”

From behind Iron Man’s mask, Tony seethed, “He was always mine, you son of a bitch.”  He poured everything he had left into the unibeam.  The suit’s arc reactor powered up quickly, charging Iron Man’s most powerful weapon.  Tony flung his arms back as it fired, and the solid shaft of energy struck Ty square in the chest.  The Chameleon tried to counteract it, but the unibeam was too strong and too concentrated.  The force fields were weakening.  The beam pushed Ty back, deflecting in spray of energy.  It pushed and pounded and overpowered. 

And that was all it took.  The unibeam cut through the shield, blasting at Ty and the quinjet behind him, and the whole thing went up.

The force of the explosion knocked Tony back.  The armor protected him, though, as he fell to the ground, as fire and debris was flung at him.  He rolled to his knees, watching as the fire burned hot and huge.  Fed by the remaining jet fuel and gas from the truck, it absolutely raged, and there was no sign of the stealth suit working inside it.  The HUD was blank, devoid of the EM signature.  There was nothing aside from the heat.  Nothing living.  Nothing surviving.

Nobody.

Tony watched for what felt like a long time, staring into the flames, not daring to believe that this could be it.  That Ty could be dead.  Finally he forced himself to slowly exhale.  His senses slowly came back to him.  The multitude of aches all over.  The taste of blood in his mouth.  Sweat cooling on the back of his neck and stinging in his eyes.  Exhaustion making him shiver.  His heart pounding.  _It’s over.  It’s over.  It’s over._

_Steve._

Tony ripped his helmet off and whipped around, staggering away from the blaze.  The STRIKE soldiers were there, shocked at his damaged appearance and everything that had happened, but they moved out of his way and let him charge through.  Back at the trailer, Clint was kneeling beside Natasha where she’d been pulled from the trailer.  SHIELD medical was all around her.  “She okay?” Tony gasped.

Clint looked up at him, face crumpled in pain himself.  “Yeah!” he answered breathlessly.  He clambered to his feet, limping after Tony and climbing up into the trailer.  The pod was still there, and Tony wasted not a second, racing over to it.  There was no power to it, no way to get it open.  That didn’t stop him.  He grabbed the top of it and pulled with all the strength he had left.  Clint joined him.  So did more of the STRIKE Team.  They all pulled and pulled, and the top came free.

Tony barked out a sob.  Steve was in there, alive but unconscious, naked and held in place by thick straps with an oxygen mask strapped over his face and IVs in his arms.  Tony ripped it all away.  Clint reached for a sheet in one of the toppled supply closets and frantically handed it to him.  Together they wrapped Steve in it as much as they could.  Then Tony gathered him into his arms.  Lifting him out and holding him tight, he turned.  People were calling to him.  Clint.  The SHIELD agents.  The EMTs rushing toward him.  He didn’t listen.  All he could to do was carry Steve out of the trailer.

And when they were free, he sank down to his knees, tightly cradling Steve in his embrace and burying his face into Steve’s neck and feeling him breathe.  Feeling his heart beating.  “I’ve got you,” he whispered, choking on his tears.  “I found you!”

_I’m here.  I’ll take you home._


	11. Chapter 11

“After more than a year of being presumed dead, Steven Rogers, better known the world over as Captain America, has been found alive.  Captain Rogers, who leads the superhero team known as the Avengers along with husband Tony Stark, was thought to have been killed on October 6th, 2015 when pirates attacked and destroyed the New Venture oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico.  He was leading a SHIELD assault operation to contain the threat when the pirates detonated an explosive device within the rig, causing a massive fire and millions of dollars of damage.  Nine other people were killed.  Details are sketchy at the moment as to how and where Captain Rogers has been found.  White House Press Secretary, Janet Larson, had this to say earlier today.”

Tony looked up at that.  The CNN anchorman disappeared and the image switched to the White House press room.  Standing at the podium was the same woman who’d done the press conference after Steve’s death a year ago.  It probably was almost _exactly_ a year ago.  That was fucking crazy.  “It seems Captain Rogers was somehow kidnapped during the New Venture assault last October.  His death was staged.  He was being held captive in a remote research installation, and the Avengers and SHIELD rescued him earlier today.  This is an incredible turn of events, and we are all very grateful to learn that he’s been finally freed.  There’s nothing more I can tell you at this time, save that he’s been transported to a secure hospital for treatment for his injuries and will receive the best care possible.  The United States government and SHIELD will be investigating this matter extensively to determine who abducted him and why, and you can rest assured that the responsible parties will be brought to justice.  Thank you.”

The press room erupted in noise, frantic reporters shouting questions.  None of them were answered, and the news coverage cut back to the anchorman.  “President Ellis urged concerned citizens everywhere to respect the Avengers’ privacy during the chaotic and difficult days that will likely follow this startling discovery.  He advocated for prayer and well wishes and echoed sentiments that the US Government and its allies would be working together diligently to uncover the perpetrators of what appears to be a very elaborate and very damaging hoax.  In the meantime, people have taken to social media to ask questions and to celebrate the return of one of the nation’s most beloved heroes.  This is really an amazing story, and the American public is relieved and thrilled to see–”

Tony shut the TV off.  “An amazing story,” he hissed bitterly.  He tossed the remote to the glass coffee table of the waiting room and leaned back in his chair, raking his fingers roughly through his mussed hair.  His eyes burned and his body throbbed.  The thing was, objectively, this story _was_ pretty incredible.  Finding Steve alive after all this time.  Rescuing him.  Getting him out of that hell and to the SHIELD hospital in LA.  It was _amazing_ , mind-boggling, unbelievable were it not for the fact that it was happening.  Steve was alive.  _Steve’s alive._   People had a right to be happy about that.

Of course, people didn’t know the whole story or even part of it.  People didn’t know that Steve had spent a year the prisoner of a sadistic, greedy psychopath.  People didn’t know that he’d nearly died down there in Stone’s lab, that he’d nearly died in the SHIELD transport on the flight out of Alaska, that Tony had had to watch _again_ as a medical team scrambled to save his life with CPR and a gallon of epinephrine and a fucking defibrillator.  People didn’t know that Steve was in surgery right now, that he’d been on the operating table for _seven hours_ so far as the doctors tried to repair the damage and get those implants out of him.  They didn’t have any idea just how awful this was, that Steve had suffered like this, day in and day out, while they’d all gotten over their grief and lived their lives, warm and free and content.  _They had no fucking clue._

Not that Tony could fault them because he’d done the same.

The sob that was perpetually lodged in his throat itched to be let loose all over again.  Instead he downed the rest of a cold cup of coffee and got up from his chair to pace the cage of this lavish waiting room.  That was what he’d been doing since he got here.  Drinking stale coffee and standing and pacing and sitting again and then getting more agitated and restless so he went back to pacing.  He knew he was running on empty.  The medical team had wanted to examine him too, bandage up his cuts and do chest x-rays and make sure there were no lasting ill-effects from the battle or his little dip in the nearly frozen river.  He’d refused.  He was fine enough.  And he wasn’t leaving, not even for a second, especially not to have a bunch of doctors and nurses poke him and prod him and ask him how he was doing and if he was in pain.  Pain didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling.  He was horrified, reeling like his life had been turned inside out all over again.  His head hurt, his chest hurt.  His limbs were numb and tingly.  His heart felt fucking _frozen_ inside him.  But he wasn’t going to rest, despite their pleas.  He wasn’t moving a damn inch until Steve was out of surgery.

“Tony?”

He turned around.  Natasha was there.  She looked pale and haggard, the entire side of her face bruised from where Ty had struck her.  She hadn’t changed from her combat uniform, and that only added to her battle-worn appearance.  Everything about her radiated defeat, despite the fact that Steve was here.  _Steve’s alive._   She pursed her lips like she was fighting not to cry.  “I thought you’d like to know that Pepper’s plane just took off.  She’ll be here soon.”

Six hours or so from New York.  Soon was relative, it seemed.  Tony had called her a couple hours ago.  She’d flown out to New York yesterday after the reception for Project Green Light for some important meetings, which she’d canceled the second Tony had told her what happened.  Tony could hardly bring himself to speak.  “Thanks.”

“Any news?”

He tried not to fidget, but what was the point?  Everything was so crazy in his head.  So much relief.  So much doubt and anger.  Fear.  Fear that Steve was so badly hurt, that something more would happen to him while they tried to treat him, that they would lose him again.  Fear that Steve was too damaged to save.  Or the irrational fear that actually _none_ of this was really real, that Tony would wake up back in the Tower after suffering another crazy nightmare about Steve’s death.  That if he so much as started to accept this, it would up and vanish like it had never been there at all.  That was fucking insane, but he couldn’t help it.  The world seemed so wrong, muted and dull and off-kilter.  He didn’t know if he should shout in joy or break down and cry in anguish.  He didn’t know if he should be happy or sad or _what._   Agitated and worried but at the same time numb and brittle.  That was what he was.  A fucking mess of emotions that he couldn’t sort out.

_Steve’s alive._

He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.  It was almost like his body was trying to protest his emotions, which was fine with him.  He didn’t want to fall apart.  He _couldn’t_ fall apart now.  “No,” he answered, swallowing through a tight throat.  “They’re still trying to stabilize him.  Bruce is here.”

Natasha nodded to that, but it was hardly a shade of her normal confidence.  _What normal confidence?_   She hadn’t been the woman she used to be since Steve had been taken.  “That’s good.  Bruce will know what to do.”

Tony wasn’t so sure about that.  Again, part of him wanted nothing more than to believe in something real – that Bruce was here and Bruce knew more about the serum than anyone so Bruce could help – but another part of him was too scared to hope.  He didn’t answer, chewing his lower lip and instead going over to the nice counter along the wall to acquire himself another dose of swill that this place called coffee.  His hands shook as he took the carafe and poured it into a Styrofoam cup.

“Fury’s here, too.”  Natasha’s voice was soft, lifeless.  Tony turned and offered her the cup, but she shook her head.  She hadn’t moved from the door.  “He’s, um…  He’s pulling everyone off their other assignments to work on this.”

“What’s to work on?” Tony murmured.  “Damage’s been done.”

Natasha flinched.  Suddenly the calm façade she was wearing all but shattered.  Her eyes welled with tears.  “Tony, I…  I’m so sorry.  You were right.  The whole time you were right, and we didn’t listen to you.  I didn’t…”  Her voice broke.  “It’s our fault.  My fault.”

Tony turned to her.  “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” she insisted.  “It does.”

Truth be told, even if it did, he couldn’t bring himself to care, let alone be angry.  Back then, back months ago when he was stubbornly insisting Steve was alive and blinding himself to everything and everyone else, back when he was ignoring anyone who so much as dared to deny his ardent faith that Steve was out there…  Well, part of him had certainly been furious that no one had believed him.  Not Clint or Bruce or Thor.  Not Fury or anyone at SHIELD.  Not Rhodey or Pepper.  Not JARVIS.  Even Natasha, who’d been the most willing to help, had given up on him.  Of course he’d been angry, angry and hurt and bitter.  At the time, these things had been a more distant trouble, completely secondary to the driving need to find Steve.  When he looked back on it now, he’d felt so goddamn alone.

Not as alone as Steve had been, though.  As much as the team and SHIELD had given up on Tony, they’d all given up on Steve.  Christ, Tony had _known_ in his blood and bones, in the very core of him, that something had been wrong about Steve’s death.  He’d known from the beginning.  And it hadn’t been denial or some misguided and desperate attempt to disregard his grief.  He should have fought harder, searched longer, done better.  He should have stood his ground, convinced Fury that the distortion had been the key or that those tiny hints of something being screwy hadn’t been coincidence or that the questions he couldn’t answer needed to be answered.  He should have clung to the fact that there’d been no body or physical remains and demanded that SHIELD _never_ close the investigation because of it.  He should have forced the others to believe him, not bend and collapse under their doubt and his own guilt.  He should have let what happened in Manila roll off his back and kept hunting, no matter what anyone said or did to stop him.  He should have never succumbed to the team’s intervention, no matter how well-intentioned it had been.  There were a million should have’s.

Here and now, though?  None of it made a damn bit of difference.  He just wanted Steve back.  That was all that was pounding through his head, beating with his heart, filling his soul.  Underneath the tangled mess of emotions and thoughts and guilt and terror, that was the only thing he knew for sure.  He wanted Steve back.

“We couldn’t have known.”  He heard himself say those words, and it took him back to a moment like this, a moment a year ago when Natasha had come to deliver Captain America’s fallen shield.  He’d spoken this same stuff then, the same useless, placating drivel.  It was just as difficult to believe now, maybe even more so, but he kept saying it.  “We couldn’t have.”

“You did,” she whispered.

Tony gave a sad smile.  “It wasn’t because I actually knew anything, though.  It was…”  _Denial.  Desperation.  Depression._ “It was just me being me.  An obsessive asshole who never listens to anyone.”

“Doesn’t matter what it was.  You knew, Tony.  You _knew._ ”

That wasn’t the consolation it could have been.  He couldn’t stand the way she looked, so broken and crushed, so out came more pointless nonsense.  He hoped he sounded strong at least.  “Tash, this isn’t your fault.  It’s not our fault.”

Natasha stared at him a moment more as if she was struggling to have some faith, as if she wanted desperately to believe that what he said could be true.  That they weren’t to blame for what had happened.  Her lips pressed into a thin frown.  She might have wished for that absolution, but she wasn’t taking it.  Instead she came closer and took his shoulders.  Tony barely had time to set the cup of coffee down before she was embracing him hard and tight.  The sob she was trying to hold inside was a clenched whimper into his shirt, and he wrapped his arms around her, awkwardly at first but then more firmly.  He couldn’t really recall ever hugging her like this, so raw and open and unguarded.  This was terrifying for all of them, devastating for all of them.  In a way, it was almost like losing Steve again, like the wounds that had barely begun to scab over and heal over the last months were suddenly being ripped open and gouged in new and incredibly painful ways.  _An amazing story._   It was, but it wasn’t nearly the relief it should have been.

A knock at the door had Natasha pulling out of his arms like she was shocked by a livewire.  She wiped viciously at her face, turning her head to hide shameful tears.  Clint was there, and he glanced between them.  He knew.  His pale, bruised face held the same awful emotions, the same crippling guilt warring with tentative hope.  “The doctors are looking for you, Tony.”

Energy burst through Tony, and he was rushing from the waiting room before he even thought to move.  He limped down the hallway, where a slew of SHIELD agents and STRIKE soldiers were standing about.  Since the hospital was owned by SHIELD, everything was already tightly secured, but Fury had clearly pulled out all the stops in making sure the place was in complete lockdown.  No one was coming in who wasn’t authorized.  Considering Steve had been kidnapped in the first place by a jealous, vindictive asshole in a stolen stealth suit, Tony didn’t feel too comforted by any of it.

Further along the gleaming, tiled hallway, Fury himself was waiting.  Tony hadn’t seen him in a couple months.  He appeared as he always did, dressed in black, aloof and inscrutable with his one eye guardedly taking everything in.  At Tony’s approach with Natasha and Clint flanking him, Fury’s expression softened, and that one eye filled with sympathy.  “Stark, I–”

“Save it,” Tony said curtly.  He didn’t think he could tolerate this right now.  It was as bad as the weeks right after losing Steve, the series of endless apologies and condolences.  _Not now._ No, he just walked by, heading down towards the surgical suite.  The huge glass observation window had been tinted while Steve had been in the operating room, blocking Tony’s view.  At the time, the surgeons and doctors had insisted it was for the best, and Tony had argued, but it was pointless.  He’d realized shortly into his frustrated pacing alongside the dark window that it _was_ necessary.  His mind had conjured all sorts of horrors completely on its own.  The image of Steve in that horrific tank with those hideous implants all over his body was burned into his eyes, into his thoughts, into his heart and soul.  That had driven him to the waiting room.

Now the glass pane was clear again, and the room was clean and empty.  Tony expected blood and mess and a pile of the implants, those little, black discs gathered in stainless steel receptacles.  Surely they had been gathered, but they were gone.  Unless they couldn’t get them out of Steve’s body.  The thought was so distressing that he couldn’t bear it, and it seemed stupid to be considering it when he didn’t know anything and the doctor was _right there_ , right outside the doors to the operating room.  Bruce was with him, and he didn’t look pleased.  He had that frown he always did when he was worried, brows pinched above his eyes.  Tony saw it then, in a clear, plastic evidence bag in Bruce’s hand.  One of the implants.  It was bigger than he imagined, maybe half an inch deep, its end flared into a clump of long, very thin wires.  There must have been dozens of them.  His stomach lurched.  “Is that…”

“One,” Bruce responded gravely.  “Of more than fifty.”

 _Fifty._ Tony felt even sicker.  Behind him, he felt Natasha stiffen and turn away.  Clint was glaring at the bag with hatred and malice deeply set into his hazel eyes.  “Did you get them all out?” he demanded.

The surgeon, an older man with a receding hairline and grim face, nodded.  “The surgery went as well as it could.  Mr. Stark…”  He glanced to Natasha, Clint, and Fury.  “You have the right to speak about Captain Rogers’ condition in private.”

Tony didn’t give a flying fuck about that.  “Just tell me if he’s okay,” he snapped, and his voice broke as that sob climbed higher again.  The hallway felt like it was spinning, and a cold, uncomfortable sweat was making his shirt stick to his back and chest and turning his palms clammy.  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t exist beyond this moment until he knew if his husband was alright.  “Is he?”

The surgeon sighed slowly.  “He’s stable.  We’re getting him settled into the ICU as we speak.”

“Is he awake?” Clint asked.  There was no hiding the tremor in his voice, either, or the desperate hope.

“No.  We’re going to keep him in a medically-induced coma–”

Clint closed his eyes and looked sharply away.  “Jesus.”

Tony wasn’t capable of speaking.  His eyes dropped to the gray tile beneath his feet.  The perfect squares blurred.  The spinning got even worse, combined now with the awful sensation of the floor simply disappearing from under him and his body weightlessly tumbling into an entirely new nightmare.  He was too smart to think this was just going to be okay; some part of him had realized that Steve was too hurt to simply _wake up_.  He’d ignored that part and hoped all the same.  He was a fucking fool.

Bruce was talking.  He needed to pay attention.  _Pay attention._   “The serum is so depressed at the moment that we can safely sedate him, so we think keeping him down is the best option.  He’s…  Tony, there’s so much damage.  If they’d kept up with what they were doing to him another few weeks, he’d have died.”  Tony closed his eyes.  “His body is literally starving.  These implants…  They were wired _into_ his tissues.  Bones and muscles and most of his internal organs, including his heart.  They were grafted into his spine and brain.”  Images of those thin wires invading and violating Steve’s body flashed through Tony’s head.  He felt small and sick and so damn defeated.  “I’ve never seen anything like this.  I know some researchers in South Korea were studying the use of special metallic polymers as a means to transmit biochemical energy to damaged tissues.  It’s supposed to be an alternative treatment method, something to stimulate healing when other options aren’t possible.  But this is far beyond that.  I’m going to need to examine the implants closely to get a handle on the technology, and I’ll need access to the data SHIELD took from Stone’s lab.”

“Whatever you need,” Fury said sternly.  He nodded to his agents, and some of them immediately started working on coordinating getting Bruce what he required.  Fury’s face was still so goddamn stoic, but the horror in his gaze was undeniable.  “So this bastard really did find a way to harness the serum?  Is it possible they extracted it?  Replicated it?”

“We have to go through the data,” Clint answered, shaking his head.

Bruce sighed, giving the bag with the implant to one of the other SHIELD agents who thankfully took it away.  “The serum is fully integrated with Steve’s DNA.  I’ve studied it as much as he’s let me.  It’s not possible to replicate it.”  His voice wasn’t as firm as it usually was concerning this topic.  He seemed to realize that, and he rubbed his forehead as he conceded the point.  “Then again, I didn’t think it was possible to steal a man’s life like this either, so we need to check.”

“It wasn’t about recreating the serum,” Tony murmured.  It throbbed inside him, the awful things Ty had said.  What Ty had shown him.  What Ty had _done_.

Fury practically glowered.  “I want everyone Stone has dealt with studied _._   If he managed to get his hands on the serum, we have to track it down _now._ ”

“He had Steve at his mercy for a whole year,” Clint softly added, like saying the words any louder than a quiet murmur was too painful.  “He had all that time to study it, too.  He could have–”

“It wasn’t about the serum!” Tony shouted, and everyone turned to him.  Everyone except Natasha, who was still looking away, staring at the empty, darkened operating theater.  Tony followed her gaze a second but then sharply stopped.  He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of Steve lying there while the surgical team extricated those implants from him, unspooling the wires from his flesh and bones, painstakingly removing them.  And then he pictured what it would have been like when Ty had the implants placed to begin with, Steve strapped to a table like this one, struggling and screaming.  It was too terrible an image, so he banished it as best he could.  He was shaking, and he sniffled, gathering himself.  “Okay, so he’s in this medically induced coma.  How long?”

The doctor seemed doubtful.  “I don’t know.  A few days at least.  Maybe longer.  As Doctor Banner was saying, Captain Rogers’ body is extremely damaged.  He has all the signs of chronic starvation.  He’s suffered from repeated cardiac episodes.  Removing the implants from his spinal column and his skull was difficult, and there’s a great deal of scarring and possible neurological insult.  It’s best that he stays completely unconscious and immobile until we can ascertain if there’s lasting injury.”  _Lasting injury._   That was too much to bear.  “The coma is meant to do that.  My hope at the moment is once the serum recovers, if you will, from what happened, the accelerated healing factor will kick in again.  We’re going to flood him with liquid nutrition to support that process as much as possible.”

Bruce put on a brave front.  “I know it’s bad right now, but if we can get him through this and over the hump, I’m confident the serum will swing back into gear.  The levels of it in his blood are depressed but not so much that I’m afraid it won’t be enough.  Once he’s more stable, his body should replenish its own supply, and he’ll start to heal.  He _will_ heal.”  He said that directly to Tony.  He said it like an oath.  Maybe it was.  Bruce was here because he knew more about the serum than anyone, and Tony knew he wouldn’t shine him on just to make him feel better.  He wouldn’t make an empty promise.  Not about Steve.

“But even still,” the doctor said, frowning like he didn’t necessarily share Bruce’s optimism, “he’s got a long way ahead of him.  We need to keep expectations within reason.  Captain Rogers has suffered an unimaginable injury, and it’s impossible for us to predict how the serum will respond or what his rate or level of recovery will be.  Chronic starvation can lead to permanent organ damage, as you know.  There’s also a great deal of muscle degeneration and atrophy.  We’ll take him in for some more comprehensive scans once things are more settled, but I can tell you from my experience that he likely has damage to his bones, fractures and possibly induced osteoporosis.  There are also signs of past injuries that haven’t completely healed or healed well, blunt force trauma to his chest and abdomen, old bruising and broken bones, burn scars and evidence of deep damage to the dermis and tissue beneath.  It’s likely than any wounds he received prior to being placed in cryostasis were never able to be healed properly by the serum.  Plus, there’s no way to be certain what the lasting effects of the cryostasis itself might be.  Or the multiple hypoxic and cardiac episodes.  Or the possible brain damage he might have sustained when–”

“That’ll be enough, doctor,” Fury said, though his voice wasn’t as cross as it could have been.  He sounded more defeated and overwhelmed than anything else.  “Thank you.”

The man nodded more compassionately.  “The nurse will be here to take you back to see him as soon as possible.”  He didn’t say anything further, turning and heading down the hall.  Emptily Tony watched him go and meet with the rest of the surgical team and nurses.  Some of them were staring back at him, and there was grief and sympathy on their faces.  He couldn’t stand it, so he turned away.  He turned away and walked straight to that window, leaning into it and closing his eyes.  _God._   He couldn’t think.  His head was pounding as he braced it against the glass.  The surface was cool at least, and it felt nice, leeching what felt like a fever from his face.  It was also strong and firm, which was good because he felt anything but.  That state of confusion and weightless uncertainty in which he’d been trapped since they’d arrived at the hospital seemed even worse, like he was dangling above a deep, dark precipice, and whatever was holding him there could give out at any second and he’d be plunging into an abyss.  _Steve’s alive._

God, Ty _ruined_ him.

There was a soft conversation behind him, one among Clint, Bruce, and Fury.  “I want the PR fire on this contained.  Everything needs to be locked down.  No information about what happened gets out.”

“Hill’s on it.”

“How the hell did Stone get Rogers off the New Venture?  Even with this Chameleon suit, there were no unauthorized aircraft around the rig in the aftermath of the explosion.  We impounded the Black Skulls’ ships, and we checked _everyone_ on site for links to the pirates, for any sort of money trail.  There was nothing.”

“We never checked anyone for connections to ViaStone, sir.  There was no reason to.  We had no idea they were involved and no reason to suspect.”  Tony shivered with a surge of guilt.  “Hill’s also been running things through again, only this time she’s looking for links between the Coast Guard servicemen or the Roxxon employees and Stone.  She told me an hour or so ago that she has a hit on one of the Coast Guard officers on the scene.  Apparently, this guy flew one of the rescue helicopters in a few passes around the rig to look for survivors.”

“So?”

“He also has a wife with terminal brain cancer.”

“Wait.  You’re thinking Stone promised him a miracle cure in return for his help?”

“Seems possible, but we don’t have any evidence of communication between them yet.  Stone clearly didn’t deliver because this guy’s wife died shortly after the New Venture explosion.”

“Maybe that’s a sign Stone didn’t get what he wanted from Steve.”

“Maybe.  At any rate, this guy, Lieutenant George Larson, retired from the Coast Guard a couple months back, and he retired _well_ , beyond what a Coast Guard officer should be able to afford.  Stone probably paid him off when he couldn’t or wouldn’t make good on his promise.”

“Couldn’t is better for us.  Means he never got a hold of the serum.”

“Maria’s working the scenario.  She’s flying down to Galveston as we speak to interrogate Larson.  We also arrested almost sixty people from where they were keeping Steve.  Doctors and researchers and techs.  Soldiers.  Sitwell’s leading a team down to ViaStone’s corporate offices in San Francisco.  They’re going to tear the place apart.  If Stone paid off the Skulls to stage the attack, there has to be a money trail somewhere.  ViaStone’s a huge company; it’ll take some time to go through it all.”

“Get it done yesterday.  I want them all questioned.  Everyone.  Break them if you have to.  I want those doctors begging to tell us everything they did.”

“Romanoff and I were going to go over to HQ after things are secured here.”  In other words, after they knew for sure that Steve was okay.  Tony didn’t think there’d be a simple answer about that.  At least the thought of SHIELD’s two top agents going after the bastards who’d done this to Steve was somewhat satisfying.  Tony knew how ruthless Clint and Natasha could be.  If the researchers had information, they’d give it up.  “Stark has JARVIS pouring over the data he took from Stone’s mainframe in Alaska.  There’s a lot of it, and it’s all encrypted.”  He was vaguely aware of that, too, that Clint had asked him a while ago if JARVIS could help them access and sort the massive amounts of information they had.  JARVIS was sending him periodic updates on his progress with the decryption.  He wasn’t sure he cared.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.  “We’ll find out if they somehow replicated the serum, find out if he sold it.”

He couldn’t stop himself.  “How many times do I have to say it?  It wasn’t about the serum!”  He turned around to glare at Fury, Clint, and Bruce.  “Don’t you get it?  This was all about beating _me_ , about stealing what I had and _owning_ it.”  His voice shook again, but this time it was with rage far more than grief.  “He didn’t recreate the serum.  He didn’t sell it.  He didn’t want it for any other reason than I had it.  I had Steve.”

“Tony…” Natasha whispered.  It was the first thing she’d said since they’d left the waiting room, and it was weak with horror.

“You said he took Steve’s biochemical energy to make himself younger,” Bruce said.  He looked sick at the mere statement.

“Incidental,” Tony retorted.  “A fringe benefit to what he did because he’s a vain, arrogant asshole.  Yeah, he wants to live forever.  Cheat death and be his own legacy and all that bullshit.  But that was never his bigger goal.  He wanted the satisfaction of stealing what I had from right in front of my nose and possessing it and using it and ruining it.  That’s it.  That’s the bottom line here.”  He heard his own voice saying those things, and that somehow made the pain worse.  _This is my fault.  Ty hurt Steve to hurt me._   Tony turned back to the window, saw the hints of his haggard reflection in the glass, the pale skin and deadened eyes and bruises.  The damage.  A year spent destroying himself with mourning.  A year of his life with Steve taken away.  He closed his eyes again.  “It was always about winning.”

“Sick son of a bitch,” Clint seethed.

“And he’s dead?” Fury asked, turning to Barton for confirmation.

Clint nodded.  “The forensic units are still scouring the battle site, but I don’t know how he could have survived.”

“Make damn sure of that,” Fury ordered.  “I refuse to be fooled again.  With that stolen stealth tech, we need to be absolutely certain that he’s gone.”

That thought had been rattling around the back of Tony’s mind, too.  He saw the explosion consume Ty.  Hell, he’d been the one to make that happen, the one to blast the Chameleon’s forcefields away and cause the burning quinjet to detonate.  He’d been the one to kill Ty, for all intents and purposes.  But seeing it and feeling it wasn’t enough to erase his doubt and calm the awful sensation of paranoia from creeping and crawling over his skin.  Fury was right.  They’d been fooled once before by the Chameleon suit and Ty.  Unless there was a body, some concrete proof that he’d been incinerated by the blast, they couldn’t accept it as fact.  Tony wasn’t going to be played ever again.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony ripped around.  There was a nurse there, a nice looking young man dressed in blue scrubs.  He looked only slightly daunted to be approaching a hallway full of Avengers and SHIELD’s top personnel.  “I can take you back, sir, if you’ll come with me.”

Tony’s heart leapt and not only in fear.  Something else was there, maybe weak and timid and uncertain.  _Joy._   He was going to see Steve.  Steve was here, _alive,_ and he was waiting for him.  Tony was down the corridor before he even thought to move.  If the rest of the team and Fury followed him, he didn’t notice.  He didn’t care.  His shoes thudded quickly on the tile floor, his pulse fluttering in intense anticipation, as the nurse took him back further into the interior of the hospital.  There were even more guards here, all dressed in the black, special ops uniforms of the STRIKE Team with their rifles held across their chests.  Tony tried not to let it bother him.  The nurse directed him into the ICU, where he and everyone else (even Fury) was logged by a retinal and fingerprint scanner.  Then the young man took them back.

There were only a few rooms here, each large and private with one glass wall facing the gunmetal gray corridor.  Like the operating room, the glass could be tinted.  Steve’s room wasn’t.  Tony caught sight of him in the hospital bed immediately.  A few doctors were in the room, chatting quietly amongst themselves, and another nurse was adjusting the machinery around Steve.  There was a lot of it.  A computer monitor attached to the wall above the bed was displaying Steve’s vital signs, his pulse and respiration rate and blood pressure and EEG readings.  Quite a few bags were hung on the poles beside the bed, dripping blood, saline, liquid nutrition, and medicine into the IV machines.  The anesthesia drugs keeping Steve comatose were there as well, and everything was mixed before being pumped into the IV lines and port in Steve’s arm.  And there was the ventilator.  For some crazy and stupid reason, Tony hadn’t anticipated seeing that, hadn’t considered that Steve wouldn’t be breathing on his own.

Bruce seemed to sense his horror.  “The vent’s letting his lungs rest,” he softly explained.  “They were full of cryostasis fluid.  The doctors are confident enough that he’ll recover that they didn’t trach him at least.”

That made sense, of course, and maybe would have been comforting if Tony’s brain hadn’t completely checked out.  He stared at Steve’s face, at the tubes running between his lips and taped into place.  These tubes were white and looked far more innocuous than that awful mask, but they were still tubes in Steve’s mouth, down his throat, invading his body.  There were wires everywhere, too, sensors taped to his chest and forehead.  And the bandages.  Bandages were on his head behind his ears, down his neck, on his arms, hidden by the thin gown he was wearing and the blankets covering him.  They were probably all along his back and his chest and stomach and legs.  The white was dotted with red.  Tony could picture the wounds, bloody, sore, perfectly circular holes in Steve’s skin.  Dozens of them.  That was too much to imagine.

And it was almost _too much_ to see Steve like this.  Before, down in that lab, it all seemed so much like a nightmare, blurry and unreal.  Panic had made processing the details difficult.  Now Tony could really _see_ it, everything that had been done to Steve.  He was so pale, his skin almost gray.  His eyes were sunken, the bags beneath them huge and dark purple with illness.  The bones of Steve’s fingers and wrists and arms were so damn pronounced.  He seemed impossibly small and frail.  All of his muscle mass was just _gone._   Tony couldn’t get used to that.  The swell of his pecs, the hills and valleys of his abs, the hugeness of his thighs, the girth of his biceps…  The places Tony had touched and kissed and loved and over which he’d marveled.  None of it was there anymore.  The blankets were practically puddling in the concave dip of Steve’s abdomen, and from across the room Tony thought he still could count Steve’s ribs through the gown.  Disturbing didn’t begin to cover it.

Vaguely he was aware of Clint and Natasha beside him, staring just as he was.  And Fury went to the doctors, murmuring something low, asking questions or giving orders or something.  Tony couldn’t hear it, and he didn’t care.  Everything in the world had been compressed, condensing down to Steve in the hospital bed.  The white tubes and the white blankets around him and the gray, pasty awfulness of his skin.  The ventilator swishing and the blood pressure cuff hissing and the compression cuffs working to improve circulation.  The monitors and machines beeping.  This was all there was, and Tony was so damn numb that he didn’t know what to think.

_Steve’s alive._

“His core body temperature is still low.”  One of the doctors was speaking in a hushed voice.  “We’re monitoring it closely.  Hopefully it’ll come back up on its own.”

The nurse was putting another blanket over Steve’s body.  There were already more than a couple there, along with some heating packs nestled against him that were shielded from directly contacting his skin by cloth.  Tony noticed now that they were warming the IV fluids as well.  Maybe…  Maybe this induced coma idea really was for the best.  Let Steve sleep through the worst, through the first few days or week of his recovery.  That seemed like a small mercy, considering everything he’d endured.  Even if Tony wanted some sign that Steve was okay, even if he needed it like he needed air to breathe…  This was the optimal solution.

But, God, it _hurt_.  It didn’t even seem like Steve was alive.  Machines were feeding him, keeping him warm, keeping him breathing.  He seemed like nothing more than a body in a bed, an abandoned husk, an empty shell that had once been the home of such a magnificent spirit.  Even if they saved him, restored that body, would the spirit come back?  Would he be the same?  Thinking that made Tony’s eyes well with tears.

He wasn’t the one who choked down a sob, though.  Natasha was falling apart beside Clint, falling apart and fighting it every step of the way.  The archer grimaced, tearing his own teary, pained gaze from Steve to glance at his friend.  He reached up an arm to embrace her, but she was already moving, already out the door.  “Let’s go,” she barked roughly at Clint, her eyes unabashedly wet and full of fury.  “Now.  We have work to do.”

Clint seemed shocked for a moment, glancing among Natasha, Fury, and Tony.  Tony didn’t meet his gaze so much as feel it against his back.  He couldn’t look away from Steve.  That seemed to be evidence enough that there wasn’t anything to do here now, nothing to help anyway, so Clint sighed wearily and followed his partner to the door.  “We’ll be back as soon as possible,” he swore before heading back out into the hallway.

“Did anyone contact Thor?”  Bruce’s question was quiet, as if there was some possibility of disturbing Steve.  “He’ll want to know.  He took everything really hard last year.”

“We’re working on it,” Fury replied in an equally soft tone.  “We’re pretty sure he’s planet side, but it’s not exactly like he carries a cellphone.”

“Send a raven,” Tony mumbled.  Then he laughed the laugh of a man pushed to the brink, rubbing his forehead before scrubbing his hands down his face and clasping them in front of his mouth.  “Oh, hell.  Sweet Jesus.”

Fury sighed.  “Stark–”

“Still don’t want to hear it, Nick,” Tony said.  “I don’t care how sorry you are.  We’re all sorry.  Doesn’t change a fucking thing.”

“Tony, Steve’s alive,” Bruce said.  He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder.  The urge to shake it off never really manifested itself in Tony’s mind, at least not as anything more than an uncomfortable, irrational twinge.  “He’s alive, and he’s right here.  We got him back.  That’s something.”  Bruce smiled weakly.  “You know how strong he is.  How hard he fights.  That’s _something._ ”

It didn’t seem like much, not with Steve laying essentially lifeless in front of him.  Not with the destruction right before Tony’s eyes and the whole year of hell stretching far behind in its wake.  Tony bit the inside of his lip until it bled onto his tongue.  The bitter, coppery taste was revolting.  “Can you all… just go?  Leave me alone for a while.  I need a minute, okay?  I need a minute.”

He felt more than saw Bruce share a concerned look with Fury.  Thankfully one of the doctors came to Tony’s rescue.  “Actually, Doctor Banner, we could really use your expertise on figuring out how much of the anesthetic to use.  We don’t know enough about the serum to predict adjustments.”

Bruce sighed.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, sure.  Let’s do that.  And I’ll get to work on everything else.”  For a moment it seemed like he wanted to go to Steve, to touch him and make sure he was there.  There was so much emotion in his eyes, anger not the least of it.  However, he held it all inside like he always did and headed to the doors.  “I’ll be back in a little while, Tony.”

Frankly Tony couldn’t give a damn, but he didn’t say that as Bruce went outside with the group of doctors.  The nurse brought a chair over to the side of the bed before frowning compassionately at Tony and leaving.  Fury was the last to go.  He heaved a big sigh, staring morosely at Steve after coming to Tony’s side.  “You said you don’t want to hear it, but I need to say it.  It was my call to close the investigation last year.  My call in the first place to declare him dead.  Maybe it doesn’t mean much, but I am truly and deeply sorry.”  Tony closed his eyes.  “We’re not resting until we figure out what Stone did and how he did it, Tony.  I swear to you.  Everyone who helped him do this will pay.”

“Still doesn’t change anything,” Tony whispered.  That year was gone.  And Steve himself…  _I don’t know if I can get him back from this.  If he lives._

“No, it doesn’t,” Fury conceded, “but it’s the best I can do right now.  That and hope.”

That was still sticking in Tony’s head long after Fury left.  It took him a minute or two (or many) even to realize that it was quiet save for the swishing and the beeping, that there was no one else in the room.  That he was alone with Steve.  He was alone with Steve.

_Steve’s alive._

Tony was moving then, walking tentatively to the side of the bed.  That sob was still itching persistently in his throat, begging to be let loose.  Suddenly he couldn’t bear to look at Steve, couldn’t stand to see how thin and emaciated and broken he was.  _No._   Maybe this was a nightmare.  He was back home in New York, in their bed, and this was all an elaborate dream, something his overactive imagination had conjured up to torture him.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

But it wasn’t a dream.  It wasn’t a nightmare, not really.  Steve was alive.  He was _still_ alive.  After a year of horror, he was here.  Bruce was right about that.  He was alive, and they had him back, and he was fighting.  He’d fought against Ty with everything he had.  Ty had told Tony that, had used it to taunt him and hurt him, but Tony knew what it really meant.

It meant Ty hadn’t broken Steve’s spirit.

So Tony couldn’t let his spirit be broken, either.  Steve was still fighting now, so Tony couldn’t do anything else.  All the times he’d dreamed of this, of finding Steve, getting him back, having him in his arms again…  Those dreams weren’t dead.  There was still hope.

_Steve’s alive._

He swallowed down that sob.  No, he wasn’t going to fall apart.  Not when Steve needed him.  He was resolved in that.  He sat in the chair, wiped away the tears that had leaked from his eyes, and smiled.  He picked up Steve’s thin hand, swept his palm over Steve’s cold fingers and knuckles.  Then he clasped Steve’s hand between his own and lifted it to his lips, kissing each knuckle carefully.  His senses that had been so long deprived soared with recognition.  It was still Steve’s hand.  Steve’s hand and Steve’s body and Steve’s heart.  “You’re going to be okay,” he swore, and he wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking.  Both of them, he supposed.  He smiled harder.  “You’re going to be okay now, baby.  I’m right here.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”

 _Steve’s alive._   Nothing else mattered.

* * *

As the day wore into evening, Tony eventually fell asleep in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to Steve’s bed.  This was after hours of keeping his vigil, of sitting at Steve’s side and watching him sleep and keeping an eye on his vitals (which stayed nice and steady, not getting better really but not getting any worse, so Tony took that as a good sign).  It was obvious the staff was also maintaining very strict observation of Steve’s condition.  The nurses came and went almost constantly, adjusting the blankets and hot packs, switching out Steve’s IV bags, checking on the ventilator even though Tony was right there and would immediately notice something off.  They always touched Steve with such gentle kindness, and they always spoke to Tony with true care and sympathy in their eyes.  Tony knew they weren’t this concerned just because Steve was so seriously ill or because he was Captain America, though that was certainly part of it.  It went deeper.  This was about supporting a spouse who’d been through an extraordinary and terrible set of circumstances and who was now faced with losing the loved one he’d just gotten back.  This was about taking care of two of the nation’s most important men, two of the Avengers, two heroes.  Normally Tony wouldn’t have appreciated such sentimental drivel, but at the moment it really was comforting.

At any rate, they were in and out.  In the private moments in between, Tony was silent.  At first he thought the emptiness was weird and miserable.  It was strange that he couldn’t think of anything to say to Steve after spending so many nights dreaming about being with Steve again and so much time just talking to Steve’s ghost like he’d actually been there to answer.  After an entire year of longing just to hear Steve’s voice again, of longing to tell him how much he loved him…  Well, maybe the silence was okay.  Steve always told him he talked too much, anyway.  It was a habit, running his mouth constantly with little to no filter between it and his brain.  He thought at first that he _should_ speak so that Steve could hear his voice and know he was there, but he just didn’t have the energy to prattle.  And he had Steve’s hand constantly, tightly held close to his chest or face, so Steve knew.  Steve knew.

 Thus the quiet became okay and not so bothersome.  Of course, the problem with that was that Tony was utterly exhausted.  His own injuries were catching up with him, the mild concussion and the cuts and bruises and the trauma of his little trip down the river.  He was sore and raw, both emotionally and physically, and before he even realized what he was doing, he was leaning down to rest his upper body on Steve’s bed, to pillow his head right next to Steve’s hip with Steve’s palm pressed right to his cheek.  He drifted off, lulled by the sound of the ventilator and the beeping of the monitors and the belief that there was actual strength in Steve’s fingers, that he really was holding him.

“Tony?”

Tony lifted his head and blinked blearily.  Memory was rather sluggish to cooperate, so for a second or two he didn’t know where he was.  Everything came into focus, though.  The hospital bed with its multiple layers of blankets.  Steve’s long, thin body, limp against the mattress.  Tony grimaced, his tender chest and stiff neck immediately complaining as he sat up more and twisted to look at the monitors.

“He’s okay,” Bruce assured, stepping more into the room.  “Everything’s fine.  Stable.”

Tony turned back, forcing away the last vestiges of a really deep sleep.  He’d hoped for some improvement honestly, although it was stupid to do that.  This was just the very beginning of a long process, one he couldn’t control or predict.  And that was assuming Bruce and the doctors were right about the medically-induced coma giving the serum a chance to begin the healing process.  If the serum didn’t bounce back…  _I’m not going to think about that._   “What time is it?”

Bruce sighed softly, gently picking up Steve’s other hand and measuring his pulse (although that was pretty useless considering the computers were tracking that among all his other vital signs).  It was more out of a need to do _something_ than anything else, and Tony knew it.  “Almost nine o’clock.  His temp’s up a couple degrees.”

Tony scrubbed at his eyes and tried to read the blurry numbers on the monitor more carefully.  “Yeah?”

“That’s a good sign.”

It was.  “Yeah.”

Bruce was slow to set Steve’s hand back to the bed, and that was out of a different need entirely: the need to know that Steve was really there, the one he’d ignored before.  Subtly he rubbed his palm over Steve’s knuckles.  “You okay?” he asked.

“Feel like I’ve been run over by a train a few times,” Tony admitted, leaning back more and wincing at the ache.  “But yeah.”

Bruce nodded.  “I’d recommend you get yourself checked out more thoroughly, eat, take some pain meds, and sleep in an actual bed, but I know that’ll fall on deaf ears.  So instead are you up to helping me for a bit?”  Sternly Tony frowned.  “Before you say no, the lab’s only down one floor, and I already have JARVIS providing continuous reporting on Steve’s situation.  Fury’s been unsurprisingly cooperative about letting him into SHIELD’s networks for once.  If anything changes, we’ll know immediately.  But nothing’s going to change.  Steve’s situation is as good as it can be, and it should stay that way until we try to wake him up.  So you sitting here all the time isn’t necessary.”

“Of course it’s not necessary,” Tony snapped, “but–”

“He’s down deep, Tony.  He doesn’t know you’re there.”  That hurt, even though he knew Bruce didn’t mean anything by it and even though he knew it was true.  Steve’s brain activity was minimal because of the artificial coma ( _God, it better be because of that…_ ).  He was nowhere close to conscious, so he really had no concept of his surroundings.  Ergo he didn’t _really_ know who was with him.  Tony was too smart and analytical to actually put stock in that bullshit about comatose patients somehow knowing their loved ones were close and drawing strength from their nearness, no matter what he was thinking before.  “An hour or two away isn’t going to matter one way or the other, and I need your help decrypting Stone’s data.  JARVIS is stuck.  Please?”

When he thought about it in terms of doing something more constructive that sitting here silently and holding Steve’s hand, it felt slightly more forgivable.  Bruce was right; this wasn’t helping Steve as much as getting Bruce access to Ty’s data might.  Tony was always better when he was working on something, anyway.  Sighing, he lifted Steve’s hand and kissed it firmly.  Then he set it down over Steve’s belly.  “Be right back,” he promised.  Carefully he bent down to kiss Steve’s forehead, not liking how cold his skin still was.  He leaned back all the same and moved from the bed with stilted steps.

Walking away felt weird and wrong even as his legs finally started functioning again.  Tony was so caught up in the discomfort of it that he didn’t hear Bruce’s question at first.  “Huh?”

“Have you heard anything from Natasha?”

“Uh…”  He hadn’t even checked.  He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out his phone.  There were tons of notifications, most from JARVIS and some from Pepper and Rhodey.  Nothing from Natasha.  “No.”

Bruce frowned.  He’d clearly been hoping for a different answer.  “Hopefully someone talks.  Not being able to get this encryption broken is proving problematic.”

“You haven’t found anything out?”

“Not much,” Bruce replied grimly.  They reached the elevator and summoned it.  The STRIKE soldiers around them watched suspiciously.  Tony didn’t care for the scrutiny, even if they were there to protect them and, far more importantly, protect Steve.  The elevator beeped when it arrived and the doors swished open.  Tony and Bruce stepped inside.  The doors closed again, giving them some privacy.  Bruce gave Tony a worried look.  “You sure you want to hear it?”

Tony didn’t answer.  He wasn’t sure.  That was pretty crazy, that Tony Stark, who liked understanding everything, who’d watched the footage of the moment where he lost Steve so many times that he could see it in his sleep, maybe didn’t want to know this.  He still nodded hesitantly.  Bruce sighed again and pressed the touch screen in the elevator to have it take them down.  “I was able to access the cryostasis tank logs.  He was in there for about seven months.  It’s probable from what I can tell from his EEG readings that he was unconscious and likely not even dreaming.”  Tony didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.  _Seven months._   Christ.

Bruce’s hands clenched at his sides.  “It…  It took multiple surgical procedures to get the implants to stay in place.”

Horror washed over Tony.  “What do you mean?”  Bruce said nothing, looking at him sadly, and then Tony’s brain caught up.  He closed his eyes.  _The serum._   “God.”

“I can only read some of the reports, but it looks like the serum was ridiculously proficient at disabling and pushing the implants out of his body within twelve to forty-eight hours after each procedure.”

The only thing stronger than Tony’s disgust was his rage.  “Then how’d they get them to work?”

“I can only guess, but…  Well, they probably started draining him.  They got ahead of serum’s healing.  It’s the only thing that makes sense.”  Tony didn’t know if he wanted to puke or cry.  He did neither.  “It looks like Stone stole the prototype of the implant from that research firm I mentioned before.  The one in South Korea.  I called over to Helen Cho – I think you’ve met her once or twice.  She runs U-Gin Genetics in Seoul.  Anyway, she recognized the mass spec reading from the metal right away.  That’s one of their top-secret projects.  She has no idea how ViaStone got a hold of it, but U-Gin deals with them on multiple fronts from collaboration on research experiments to simple purchases from ViaStone’s biopharm distributors.  The opportunity is definitely there.”

Tony said nothing.  The elevator beeped again and deposited them on their floor.  They started walking down the gray corridors, walking past more STRIKE personnel and security checkpoints where they were scanned and logged anew.  “And, as far as I can tell, they weren’t after the serum.  Granted I have access to only a fraction of the data we have, but there’s no sign of any significant DNA testing they performed.  Any attempt to extract the serum would have required that.  So you’re right.  Stone didn’t seem to be interested in Doctor Erskine’s formula, at least not in terms of replicating it.”

Still Tony didn’t answer.  He felt so goddamn numb.  His brain was still stuck back on the idea of Steve spending seven months in cryostasis, of him having to undergo _multiple_ surgical procedures to get those fucking implants to stay wired into his enhanced muscles, bones, and organs.  Multiple surgeries, and each one likely without anesthesia.  It would have been torture.  Ty’s awful words echoed through his head.  _“I didn’t even have to listen to him scream.”_

“How did you figure it out?”

They’d reached the lab.  Bruce gently took his arm outside the glass doors.  Tony turned to his friend and forced himself to focus.  Bruce’s eyes were nothing but compassionate, and there was guilt there.  The same guilt in Natasha’s eyes and in Clint’s and in Fury’s.  Bruce shook his head.  “How’d you…”

“It was your friend Galloway,” Tony explained.  His tone sounded dead to his ears.  “I went to the tech demo for the Chameleon.  They blasted the suit with fire, and that was it.  It was…”  All those months of studying the footage of the explosion on the oil rig, of pouring through the evidence, of examining that distortion and tearing apart the backgrounds of everyone on the New Venture or with ties to it…  All that time.  All the brain power and man hours and technology he’d sunk into finding Steve.  “It was all a coincidence.  Just dumb luck that you asked me to consult on his project.”  And if fate hadn’t taken Tony the way it had, hadn’t placed him as a rich, technical genius in the path of a desperate scientist needing money…  If Bruce hadn’t been friends with Galloway to begin with and hounding Tony to help him.  If that hadn’t happened, Steve would still be in Ty’s clutches.

It should be funny how things worked out, but there was nothing funny about this _at all._

Bruce winced, obviously thinking similar things.  He took Tony’s shoulders, seeming as if he wanted to give Tony a hug, but that wasn’t Bruce’s way, and he knew better than anyone that hug meant shit right now.  Instead he let go and led Tony into the lab.

“Good evening, sir,” JARVIS immediately greeted.  Bruce had obviously gotten him installed into the lab’s computer systems.  There were computer terminals everywhere, glass screens mounted onto the walls and workstations.  Most were idle, displaying a silver animation of the SHIELD logo, but a few in the back were alive with analyses.  As Tony and Bruce headed there, Tony could see a few of the implants in various states of being taken apart and examined.  He found himself averting his eyes right away.  “Are you aware that Ms. Potts’ plane has landed?  She will be here momentarily.”

“What do you need help with?”  Tony went to one of the computer screens that was scrolling through data.  It was indeed encrypted.

“I am projecting that our standard decryption algorithms will take more than twenty-four hours to complete their permutations, possibly even longer,” JARVIS declared.  Even he sounded sullen and contrite.  “Considering the severity of the circumstances, it would behoove us to do better.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Tony muttered, sliding his fingers capably over the touch screen.  “Show me what you got.”

JARVIS did.  For a few minutes, the room was silent as Tony started to work.  Despite how tired and sore he was, it didn’t take him long to get oriented to the situation.  He was mildly surprised JARVIS hadn’t figured out how to adjust the algorithm on his own; it wasn’t that complicated.  Bruce puttered around by the microscopes, but it was obvious he was mostly just watching Tony and waiting.  He kept coming over and glancing over Tony’s shoulder.  Tony’s eyes darted to him from the screen.  “You mind?”

Bruce flushed with embarrassment.  “Sorry.  Feeling antsy.”

 _No shit._   Tony’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he tried altering the decryption algorithm.  This was one he’d written a while back, years ago maybe, so it was taking him a little bit of time to remember where things were inside the code.  Everything looked bleary on top of that.  “If you want to be useful, can you get me a cup of coffee?  Or soda.  Something with caffeine.”

Bruce nodded.  “Sure.  You want something to eat, too?  One of the doctors told me there’s a cafeteria a few floors down.  You must be starving.”

Tony wasn’t sure he could handle eating anything, not with his stomach perpetually twisted up inside him, but he nodded.  Anything to get rid of Bruce so he could concentrate and get this done and get back to Steve.  “Yeah, a sandwich would be nice.  You know what I like.”  He managed a weak grin.  His lips felt like stiff rubber.  “Thanks.”

“No problem.  Back in a sec.”

The second Bruce was gone, Tony let out a long breath and closed his eyes.  He leaned wearily into the workstation, so dizzy and exhausted and overwhelmed that for a second he considered just collapsing.

“Are you alright, sir?”

JARVIS’ soft call felt more like a cruel nag.  Tony braced himself more against the desk, not ready yet to open his eyes and abandon the comfort of nothingness.  “What do you think?”

It was silent a moment.  “I think you brought Captain Rogers back against all odds and through unimaginable obstacles.  I think the fact that he is still alive is very telling of just how strong he is.  I think that if anyone can survive this, it is him.  And I think that the bond between the two of you is too powerful to be severed, clearly not even by death.”

Tony opened his eyes.  JARVIS’ soft, even words filled his heart like a warm balm, chasing away the lingering ice.  He gripped the desk tighter and took a deep breath.  _Steve’s here.  Steve’s alive._   JARVIS was right.  _I found him._

“I further think a good distraction can ease pain at times.”  JARVIS sounded just a little cheeky.

Tony actually laughed.  He wiped at his eyes, smearing away new wetness there, and went back to the algorithm.  “I knew you were bullshitting Banner,” he huffed.  “You could have fixed this on your own.  You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are.”

“Perhaps not.”

Tony grinned and went back to work.  It didn’t take much, just a few more minutes of tweaking, and the algorithm was ready to go.  “Think that should do it,” he declared, swiping away his workspace as the compiler put the program back together.

“I believe so,” JARVIS agreed.

“Do it.”  The algorithm churned for a second or two, working on the decryption much more efficiently.  Either Ty was lazy as fuck or he needed to hire better IT people because within a matter of minutes Tony hit the jackpot.  “Bingo.”  Tony squinted as the contents of the folders became readable.  There were thousands of files.  A cursory glance revealed everything from the research team’s notes on the difficulties encountered with using the implants to reports on Steve’s metabolic rates to inventories of supplies and drugs.  Tony’s head hurt too much to read through it all.  “Is this what Bruce is looking for?”

JARVIS answered, “It seems to be.  Sir, this folder contains a great many large files.”  One of the thousands of items in the list was highlighted by a flashing red box.  “I believe they are video clips.”

Tony’s blood went cold.  “What?”

JARVIS opened the folder in lieu of answering, revealing just what he said: dozens of video files.  Fifty-nine of them, to be exact.  They were all labeled with a sequential identifier and something that was very clearly the date.  Tony gasped a shuddery breath.  _2016_10_06._   That was the day Steve went missing.  He tapped the file to open it.  “Sir, perhaps–”

“Don’t!” he snapped.  His hands were shaking as he enlarged the video player.  For a second or two, the video lagged behind the audio.  There was a lot of crackling, sharp bangs and clangs of metal striking metal and loud noises that echoed.  _Gunshots._   It was the battle.  When the video came on, it was loaded with digital distortion.  That cleared up quickly, and – _holy shit_ – he was staring at the generator room, at the _back_ of the pirate who was holding the detonator.  The stack of C-4 was there at his side.  The gunshots Tony was hearing were from the pirates fighting Steve.  Steve was coming.

_Holy shit._

This video was being recorded _from_ the Chameleon suit.  The suit had something similar to Iron Man’s HUD, though significantly more primitive.  There were basic readouts of the Chameleon’s systems, energy levels and suit integrity.  That only confirmed the undeniable conclusion. He was seeing what whoever was inside the suit had seen right before the bomb went off.  And, as if there could be any doubt as to who was inside…  Ty’s voice came over the recording.  _“Rogers is here.  Are you reading me, Galveston?”_

Ty was in the far corner of the room, hiding behind machinery.  With the noise of the battle, his soft words definitely wouldn’t be detected by the pirate, let alone Steve.  He was talking to someone in Texas, people back on shore who were helping him.  Of course he’d have help.  _“Yes, sir,”_ came a woman’s response.  _“Loud and clear.  We’re tracking you.”_

 _“Have you routed the emergency call to the_ Matagorda _?”_   Tony didn’t know what that was.  It had to be the Coast Guard ship.  _“They need to be ready, you hear me?  I’m not going to be able to keep him down for long.  Ellison guaranteed me fifteen minutes on the sedative.”_

_“They’ll be there, sir.”_

_“Don’t fuck this up.”_

_Christ._   Tony wanted to scream.  Ty was watching from the shadows, and the second Steve charged into the back area…  _“I see him.”_

_“The Chameleon’s readouts are good, sir.  You’re clear.”_

Digital distortion twisted over the video feed, and that probably meant Ty was activating the stealth suit.  He crept from the darkness like a snake.  Ahead of him, the scene was playing out, the one that had haunted Tony’s waking hours and his nights alike.  It was disturbing to see it like this, a different angle and perspective.  The perspective of the man who was there to kidnap Captain America.  Steve’s cry, always so loud and clear over the SHIELD comm link, was more distant and muffled as Ty moved slowly closer.  _“Get everyone off the platform!  They’ve rigged the room to blow!  Get everyone off right now!  Get out!”_

And then Ty came to stand _right next_ to the pirate with the detonator.  He was staring directly at Steve, and Steve had no idea he was there.  That was distressing, but not as much as the fact that Tony could finally see Steve’s face.  He’d agonized about this so much in the beginning, how Steve looked, what he was thinking and feeling.  He could see the stern clench of his jaw, the way he was holding his shield up in front of his chest, the desperation in his eyes.  The hint of fear there.  Steve knew.  Tony had wondered about this for a year, if Steve really knew he was going to die.  _He knew._   _“You don’t want to do this.  A lot of innocent people are going to die if you do.”_

 _“Only one that we care about.”_ The words came from Ty’s left, and he turned in time to see the pirate sneer.  _“I’m going to hell, Captain America, and I’m taking you with me.”_   He pressed the detonator.  The bomb exploded in a rush of hellfire.  Steve dropped down behind his shield.

And this was where the feed normally died.  This was where Tony had always been left to wonder what had happened just as the front edge of the blast hit Steve.  Ty was already moving.  It was strange seeing an explosion from _inside_ it, the waves of fire bending around the Chameleon’s forcefields as they expanded and Ty rushed forward.  He got right in front of Steve as Steve was ducking behind his shield, and Ty gave a cry of effort.  The suit’s energy levels went wild.  Tony watched in horror and amazement as the forcefields from the Chameleon expanded even more in a wave of blue, encasing both Ty and Steve.  He wasn’t an expert on this technology, but it was sadly obvious this suit wasn’t strong enough to handle what Ty was trying to do.  It didn’t seem like it would last.  For a few horrendous seconds, the video was nothing but digital distortion and blinding light.  It seemed to go on forever.

But it didn’t.  When the blast wave passed, Steve was there at Ty’s feet.  Ty was breathing hard and looking right down at his crumpled form.  God, Steve was burned.  The forcefield hadn’t protected him entirely.  The right side of his body that had been more exposed, and his right leg and shoulder were charred with what were clearly third-degree burns.  He was moaning, breathing heavily in what was probably superheated air, feebly twisting to get his shield up.  Everything around was burning, like they were trapped in an inferno.  The blue waves from the suit were faltering.  Steve was scrambling away.

Before he could get anywhere, though, Ty was on him.  He pounced like a predator, clearly driving his fist down.  The HUD showed the outline of his arms as he hit, the suit probably reporting the location of its own limbs.  Steve obviously still couldn’t see anything, though.  He couldn’t even cry out as he was struck across the face.  His head snapped back, banging into the floor.  He tried to get his shield up, but he was shocked to hell and in too much pain to fight let alone defend himself against someone he couldn’t see.  A secondary explosion went off from somewhere in front of Ty, and the forcefields from the suit came up again.  Ty’s exerted shout was almost a scream as he held the onslaught back.  The suit’s energy levels plummeted, and the feed was jerking and jolting with distortion.  This was fucking _madness._   If Tony didn’t know for a fact that they survived this, he wouldn’t have believed it.

The fire receded, and when it did, Steve was barely conscious.  The burns all over him were serious.  _“Fuck.”_   Ty’s huffed, breathless curse was utterly revolting.  _“Tell Benton he fucked up the projections about what this thing can do.  He got burned.”_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“Fine.  Hell of a rush.”_   Ty knelt over Steve’s body, the roar of the fire around them deafening.  The video dropped to the floor as Ty crouched.  His hands became completely visible as he disengaged the cloaking tech; there was hardly any need for stealth now.  He fumbled at Steve’s neck for his pulse.  Steve’s lips moved around a soundless word, and he panted for oxygen.  He squirmed weekly as Ty restrained him.  _“We’re going to need medical immediately.  Defeats the purpose if he dies before we get him out of here.”_

_“Sir, you need to move.”_

Ty did.  He planted his hand firmly over Steve’s mouth before he could make a sound.  Steve struggled, grabbing at Ty’s arm, but he was too hurt to do much more than wriggle.  Out came a syringe; Tony couldn’t see from where.  It must have been the sedative.  Ty jabbed the needle into Steve’s neck and depressed the plunger.  _Jesus._   He was watching Ty kidnap Steve, watching him work Steve’s shield from off his left arm and dump it to the burning ground just outside the bubble of the forcefield.  He watched him unsnap Steve’s helmet and pull it off to get at Steve’s comm link.  That he plucked out of Steve’s ear and ripped it out of his tac suit and threw into the fire.  Then he worked Steve’s combat gloves off.  Tony didn’t get why until Ty rolled Steve onto his stomach.  He pulled Steve’s arms behind his back and locked metal cuffs around his now exposed wrists.  It probably didn’t matter.  Between the burns and the sedative, Steve wasn’t waking up.  Ty paused there, holding Steve down prone on the floor, staring at Steve’s hands.  The Chameleon’s energy levels were almost empty, and the forcefields were starting to falter.  _“Sir,”_ prompted the woman’s voice.  _“You’re running low on energy.  Go now!”_

“You fucking monster,” Tony whispered.

Despite the fire barely held back from them, Ty actually took the second to pull Steve’s wedding ring off his left ring finger.  That he threw across the room like it was nothing before he started to drag Steve through the inferno.

The Chameleon suit was struggling to push back the flames and make them a path.  There were warnings all over the HUD about power running dry and the fields weakening.  Ty’s labored breathing was loud as he worked and labored to pull Steve’s limp body by his legs.  _“Heavy as hell,”_ he grunted.

_“SHIELD’s clearing the platform.  The Coast Guard’s there.”_

_“I’m almost in position.”_

_“Roger.  The chopper’ll be ready, sir, but you’ll have to move fast.  Larson says he can do a sweep close to the water for survivors but not any longer than a few minutes.”_

_“Could he fucking spare all that?”_   Ty heaved Steve _deeper_ into the generator room.  Tony had no idea where he was going at first.  He knew the schematics of the New Venture like the back of his hand, and there was nothing where they were heading, nothing but an alcove with some exhaust systems that vented out beneath the rig.  It was a dead end, not that Ty stood any chance of carrying Steve out of there.  Even if he could lift Steve, there was smoke and fire everywhere.  It was a miracle the suit was still repelling it enough to keep them safe.  _“Give him my location.”_

_“Already done, sir.”_

Ty was breathing really hard, seriously struggling with Steve’s weight.  He didn’t have to go far to get to the massive pipes in the alcove, but it seemed like forever with the flames raging all around them.  He had Steve near the wall.  The area wasn’t burning quite as badly yet.  Ty dropped Steve’s legs with a grunt and looked around, scanning the huge flames.  Then he reached for the wall like there was something there aside from the pipes.  What the hell was he doing?

Then his fingers curled around something, and the light wavered oddly.  Ty fumbled at seemingly nothing, and a large gray swath of fabric suddenly appeared in his gloves.  _Galloway’s polymer._   Of course, it didn’t _need_ to be made into a suit.  This was a tarp almost, a sizeable section of the stealth fabric that was draped over crates.  God, Ty had been bringing supplies down into the New Venture and hiding them.  That was why the cameras had caught the Chameleon moving through the corridors in the days before the explosion.  The couple crates were full of explosives and something that looked like a small generator.  Ty pulled that out.  _“Recharging the suit,”_ he declared.  He worked to connect cables that came from behind him to the box-like generator, disconnecting the tarp that had been plugged in.  _“Time?”_

_“Two minutes until full power.”_

_“Dandy.  Hopefully we don’t burn to death in the meantime.”_   Ty’s tone was infuriating.  The cables between the power pack and the generator restricted his movements like a tether, but he was still able get the charges from the crates and set them up along the walls of the little square area.  It was pretty obvious what he meant to do.  He was going to blow out the floor.  Now it made even more sense, why Ty had set up this trap here.  Below this area were the emergency vents that pumped exhaust directly to the exterior of the rig.  They opened automatically in the event of a fire to try and vent smoke and oxygen out.  If he blew the floor, after quite a steep drop through the vents, there’d be nothing between them and the sea.

With all the damage the initial explosion and fire had done, there’d been no way to tell (and no reason to even suspect) that this one hole in the floor among the _hundreds_ of collapsed areas in and around the engineering section had been special.  “Son of a bitch,” Tony murmured, watching as Ty rigged the bombs.  He felt like a fucking fool for never thinking of this.  Then again he’d never imagined that someone could _walk_ through the fire to get to this place, let alone get Steve there.

Ty knelt by Steve.  He’d grabbed some things from the crate, and he spent a second securing Steve more than before.  He gagged him with something that looked like a Kevlar bit, something Steve wouldn’t be able to bite through.  Then he locked more heavy-duty shackles around Steve’s ankles and secured them with a thick metal rod to the cuffs around his hands.  The position kept Steve’s knees bent and his body almost arched.  Ty clasped what looked like a metal fucking _collar_ around Steve’s neck, and that he chained to his hands, too.  Finally he pulled the chains taut and held them almost like a leash.  He grunted breathlessly as he worked. _“Ready.  Larson better be right there because he’s going to sink like a fucking rock.”_

_“He will be.”_

Ty’s hands poked at some of the worst of the burns on Steve’s chest.  _“Goddamn it.”_   There again with the irritation, like Steve was _nothing_ more than an asset to him.  A trophy to take.  A prize to be had, and he was examining the damage like one might a dent in his sports car.  _“We’re going to need to move fast.  He won’t be quiet like this when he comes around.”_

 _“We’ll be ready.”_ Ty wrapped Steve up in the shroud made from the Chameleon polymer, completely obscuring his body. _“Thirty seconds.”_

 _“Time to go.”_   Ty pulled Steve to the center of the area, dragging him with a pained grunt.  _“You know what the really sad part is?”_

_“What’s that, sir?”_

_“Well, aside from the fact that they’re all going to think their precious first Avenger died.  That’s going to be pretty sad.  I can hear the whining and crying and hysterical sorrow already, Stark’s especially.  Poor Tony.  Broken little man.  Watching him hurt is always such a pleasure.  Remind me to call and offer my condolences when we get this done.”_   Tony choked on a furious sob, so sick that the room was spinning.  He gritted his teeth in rage.  The fire raging just outside the alcove was unbelievable, and it was getting even larger and closer.  Tony could practically feel the heat through the video screen, feel the rig shaking as more and more of it was consumed.  In a matter of seconds, there’d be no escape.  Even though Tony _knew_ they’d get out, that this had happened a year ago, he couldn’t breathe out of fear.  Ty grunted ruefully.  _“Anyway, the really sad thing is I’ve orchestrated the trick of the century here, and no one will even know.  I can’t even brag about it.  Oh, well.  I guess it’s a small price to pay.”_

The fire roared closer just as the suit reached full charging capacity.  Ty yanked the cables free and activated the forcefields.  He dropped to his knees, pulling the shrouded body on the floor closer.  His grip on the chains was tight.  _“Alright, let’s make a clean getaway, shall we?  And no one will be any the wiser.”_   Ty held the detonator in front of his face and pressed the button.  The bombs went off with a deafening bang that shook everything, and the blur of fire and motion quickly locked in place as the screen filled with distortion.  Tony couldn’t see anything anymore.

“Tony?”

He jerked and looked up.  Bruce was standing at the lab’s entrance.  He had a Styrofoam plate with a sandwich atop it and a cup of coffee in his other hand.  He was watching Tony with worry splayed all over his face.  “You okay?  You look…”

Tony swallowed, swiping the video closed.  He could feel exactly how he looked.  Pale and shaky and bathed in sweat.  Like he’d seen something horrific because he _had._   It took him a moment to gather himself, to _think_ in the wake of what he’d seen.  What he’d found.  That was only the tip of the iceberg.  He tapped the computer screen, closing the directory full of videos hastily.  “I’m fine.  Just…”  He tried for a smile, and he knew it looked like shit, but maybe that was alright.  “I need to go back to Steve.  Okay?  I’ll eat up there.”

Bruce didn’t look convinced at all.  “You sure?”

“I just got him back.  I need to be with him.  I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“Of course not,” Bruce said.  “But you–”

Tony was already moving.  “I got the data decrypted.  Okay?  It’s all yours.  Thanks.”

“Tony?  Don’t you want your – Tony?”

Tony said nothing more, walking right out of the lab.  He was still reeling as he rushed down the hallway toward the elevators, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.  “JARVIS,” he said after lifting it to his ear.  “Get every one of those videos off SHIELD’s computers.  Copy them to my secure server.  You hear me?  _Every single one_ _of them.”_

“Sir–”

“Christ, all you do is argue with me!  Every single time I’ve said _anything_ other than ‘okay’ since that fucker took Steve, you’ve argued.”

“There may be evidence in these files, evidence that could aid Doctor Banner or in SHIELD’s investigation.”

Tony stepped into the elevator.  He viciously jabbed his thumb into the controls.  “Is anyone fucking listening to me?”

“Sir…”

“What does it matter?  Huh?”  The elevator started going up, and Tony leaned into the wall, closing his eyes.  “It’s not going to change anything.  It’s not going to undo the last year of hell Steve’s lived through or that I’ve lived through.  It’s not going to give us those days back.  It’s not going to fix what’s broken.  All it’s going to do is put what Steve went through on very public display, and I have no right to make that decision for him.”

“It is not as if SHIELD will release the footage to the media.”

“Do you know that for sure?” Tony snapped.  JARVIS went silent at that because he didn’t and they both knew it.  SHIELD was a government agency.  It served the worlds’ governments, the World Security Council, and Tony trusted them about as far as he could throw them.  Maybe Fury and Hill were on the level, but Tony had seen enough since becoming an Avenger to know not to trust them blindly.  He wearily sighed.  “And even if they keep it quiet, people here will still have to examine them.  Fury or Hill or Sitwell.  SHIELD techs.  Even Bruce and Tash and Clint.  They’ll pull them apart and analyze them and–”

“They will do so with Captain Rogers’ best interests at heart,” JARVIS replied, though his tone wasn’t so firm anymore.  “Certainly not to degrade or humiliate him.”

Tony wasn’t going to argue about this.  “I don’t care.  If we let them have them, if we let _anyone_ have them, we have no control over what happens to them.  At least this way no one else will see them.”

Against his ear, JARVIS was silent.  Then, “Am I to assume from the way you phrased that that you intend to watch them all?”

Tony closed his eyes.  He was so very tired.  “I have to.  I have to see everything.  I have to understand it.  I have to…”  He swallowed the sob again, pushed it down hard and fast before it could break free.  “I have to be able to help him.”

JARVIS didn’t speak further on it.  A second later, a second Tony spent drifting in numb exhaustion, his phone beeped.  He pulled it away from his ear.  The screen flashed, and all of the contents of that folder, all fifty-nine of the videos, had been moved onto his private server.  Tony exhaled slowly and put his phone back in his pocket.  _Not now.  Later._

The elevator beeped and deposited him back onto Steve’s floor.  He walked back to the ICU on autopilot.  Once he got to the security checkpoint, he saw a flash of auburn hair and a familiar silhouette in a red, slenderizing business suit.  Pepper turned at the sound of his footsteps coming closer.  Her face broke into a wince, and she flew across the few feet between them to grasp Tony and pull him into a tight hug.  “Oh, Tony!  Tony!  Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled into her shoulder, melting into the touch.  “I’ll be okay.”

She rubbed his back for a moment, unintentionally squeezing his sore ribs as she tightened her embrace.  He ignored the pain.  He could do that.  He knew he could.  “Is Steve…  Where is he?”

A sudden thought charged through his muddled head.  “Did you get it?”

Pepper pulled back, blinking away tears.  She was confused, but she nodded all the same, reaching into her pocketbook.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I have it,” she said, pulling Steve’s wedding ring out of its safe place inside.  She handed it to him.

With the weight of it in his palm, Tony felt inexplicably calmer.  More anchored.  Grounded.  He hadn’t seen Steve’s ring in months, not since he put it away that night after Manila.  He hadn’t been letting himself look at it, not when it symbolized so much obsession, so much pain.  Now…  He closed his fingers around the smooth, cool vibranium.  When he called Pepper to ask her to come, he hadn’t understood why he asked her to bring Steve’s ring from the Tower.  It seemed stupid, to care about such a little thing with everything else going on.  All the sudden, though, it made perfect sense as he stood there, squeezing it tight against his palm.  He thought of Ty throwing it across the room like it was nothing, and he squeezed tighter and tighter.  _You didn’t break him.  You didn’t break me._

“Tony?”

Tony didn’t answer.  Instead he walked through the security checkpoint and went back to Steve’s room.  It was empty, and Steve was exactly as he’d left him, asleep in the hospital bed, buried under blankets, surrounded by the machines keeping him alive while everyone waited and prayed for the serum to save him.  Tony came right to the bed, to his chair, and picked up Steve’s left hand.  He was gentle as he slid the ring back on Steve’s finger.  Steve had lost so much weight that the band was loose, much looser than it used to be, but it’d stay in place.  Tony sat, staring at the vibranium as it shone in the room’s dim lights.  He rubbed his thumb over it and then closed Steve’s hand in his own, raising it to his lips and kissing it soundly.  The first step in restoring what was lost.  It’d be the first of many, the first on a long and difficult road, but they were taking it, and they were taking it together.

“I’m right here,” he softly swore again, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath and settling into his vigil without a doubt about what he needed to do.  “I’m here, and I love you.  I’m going to get you through this, Steve.  I promise.  And I promise he can’t hurt you anymore.  No one’s ever hurting you again.  Never again.”

_You never broke us._


	12. Chapter 12

Steve slept.  Tony hardly left his side.  He was vaguely aware that people were still coming and going in and out of Steve’s room in the ICU.  All the doctors and nurses in a constant stream.  Fury and SHIELD personnel.  The other Avengers.  Bruce came by with his tablets full of data and test results and projections concerning when the serum should begin the massive process of restoring Steve’s devastated body.  He always had an encouraging word for Tony, for whoever was there really, one based in science and steeped in logic and rationality.  Tony knew better than anyone that there was strength to be had in that, solace to be found in facts and reasoning, but he couldn’t find it now.  Still, he nodded and smiled on occasion, letting Bruce clasp his shoulder every time in a friendly show of support.  It was what Bruce could do while they waited.

Thor arrived.  The morning after Steve’s rescue, SHIELD finally succeeded in locating him in England.  With the Avengers fairly well out of commission, he and Jane Foster had bought some sort of cottage in a pretty, secluded area north of London where they could escape as they desired.  Apparently they desired quite often.  Thor came the second Clint had told him the news.  He burst into Steve’s room, horrified and stricken.  His wide eyes took in Steve’s devastated body, the ruin done to him while the rest of the team had grieved and moved on, and outside the skies darkened and thunder shook the building.  He hardly spoke, his once gregarious demeanor crushed under his rage, as Clint and Bruce explained what had happened.  It was clear Thor didn’t understand it in the least.  Tony supposed that made sense.  Immortality probably held lesser value to an immortal.  The demigod called the reasons for Steve’s abduction and horrendous treatment petty and vile, and no one disagreed with him.  Then he engulfed Tony in a monstrous hug, apologized profusely for not doing more to find Steve after his supposed death, for not believing in hope, for not being there when Tony finally pieced the puzzle together.  Tony quietly absolved him, though it clearly didn’t mean much.  It was equally clear that Thor thirsted for vengeance, and that his heart ached to do something to ameliorate his guilt.  He vacillated between staying close to Steve’s side and joining the unending shifts of guards outside the door to Steve’s hospital room.  Maybe it was dumb, but Tony did feel better and safer having him out there standing watch with dark eyes and a glower on his face and Mjölnir clenched tightly in his hand.

Unlike Thor’s larger-than-life presence, Natasha was a shadow.  Whenever Tony was forced away, he always returned to find her with Steve, right at Steve’s bed with his hand between hers, her eyes deadened with grief and worry.  She seemed to be protecting Steve too, protecting them both, trailing Tony like a ghost.  Where the rest of the team was struggling with anger and trying to understand how something this awful could happen, she was burdened with guilt far more openly than the others seemed to be.  It was crushing her.  Tony knew why.  It was what she said when they brought Steve here: Tony was the only one of the team who’d believed there was anything more to Steve’s death, who’d seen those tiny hints that something hadn’t been right and who’d had faith enough to search.  If the team hadn’t interfered with that…  Well, he couldn’t say for sure if they hadn’t he would have found Steve sooner.  Again, the leap that had led to him figuring out what had truly happened in the generator room of the oil rig stemmed from utter coincidence.  And who knew what sort of state he’d be in now if Natasha and the others _hadn’t_ stopped him.  Obsessed, grief-stricken, isolated, reckless…  If things hadn’t occurred exactly as they had, the outcome could have been far worse.

Natasha didn’t care.  For all her hardened drive the first day, now she was content to linger around Steve’s room like a ghost.  Tony rarely spoke to her at all beyond brief, lifeless conversations about Steve’s condition.  Tony knew she needed comfort and solace, but he doubted she would accept it even if he had the energy and emotional fortitude to give it.  He knew the concept of ritual penance all too well, but frankly he was relieved to know that every time he so much as got up to go to the bathroom, she was there at Steve’s side so that Steve was _never_ alone.

And Clint was always around, too.  He was cool, solemn, seemingly detached from the pain.  Fully engaged with the investigation.  That was what he could do while they waited, and he was throwing himself into it whole-heartedly.  It seemed like that day months and months ago when he came down hard on Tony for searching the world for Steve every night like a man obsessed, when he’d chastised Tony for shutting everyone else out and insisting Steve was alive, was haunting him now.  Driving him to find answers.  He wanted to know _exactly_ what happened, how it happened.  He wanted to see and know and understand all the subtle clues and signs they missed.  This was their mistake, _his_ mistake, and he wanted to own it.

Tony let him.  Clint came into the room and explained things with his jaw set in silent, brooding fury.  Hill’s theory about the involvement of the Coast Guard pilot turned out to be true.  She arrested the guy on suspicion of conspiracy and being an accomplice to kidnapping.  SHIELD had hardly slapped the cuffs on him before he was trying to confess.  Ty had paid him off months before the attack on the New Venture and paid him again to keep his silence.  Sitwell had also finally found the elusive money trail for which SHIELD and Tony himself had so ardently searched when Steve had been lost.  Ty had hired the pirates a few months before the assault on the New Venture using some assets buried within ViaStone that were extremely difficult to track.  Most of the Black Skulls believed the same faulty information that SHIELD had believed: the plan had involved ransoming the rig to Roxxon and the US government.  Only one of the pirates (if the picture Ty had on file was accurate, it was the same bastard who’d set off the bomb) had known that they’d truly been paid to blow the rig and kill Captain America.  And none of them had seemed to be aware that the _true_ underlying goal of the whole thing had been to kidnap Steve.  The pirate Ty had paid to lead the crew to their deaths had given all the ill-gotten gains to family in India.  Sitwell was still working on tracking that down, but a year later it seemed likely the money was gone for good.

Not that it mattered.  Not that knowing _any_ of it mattered, but to Clint it seemed paramount.  He and Natasha were also interrogating the prisoners from Ty’s research installation.  For the most part, the scientists and guards they’d arrested were cooperating.  They weren’t stupid; they knew staying loyal to Ty at this point was the equivalent of dooming themselves.  Most were scrambling to make a deal with SHIELD and the justice department, clambering over themselves to cooperate and tell everything to anyone willing to listen.  Therefore, Clint and the rest of SHIELD had discovered all sorts of new nasty information.

Nasty information that Tony already knew because every second he could get alone, every moment he could dredge up the courage, he was watching the videos he and JARVIS had discovered in the encrypted data they’d taken from Ty’s lab.  Some part of him knew it was necessary.  He believed what the told JARVIS, that he needed to understand what Steve had gone through because when Steve woke up, he’d need support.

But there was so much more behind it than that.  He needed to _know._   He needed to see what Ty had done.  It definitely tied back to who Tony was, that he couldn’t let things go.  That driving desire to understand it all.  That same obsession with figuring things out, with pulling it apart and seeing and thinking until he knew everything there was to know.  It felt morally reprehensible to watch these things sitting right next to Steve’s drained and comatose body.  Maybe _Steve_ wouldn’t want him to know what happened.  Maybe he was betraying Steve again by doing this.  He couldn’t know.  And he rationalized it all to himself the same way he always did when he was doing something he wasn’t sure was proper.  Steve shouldn’t have to explain _anything_ , shouldn’t have to tell anyone what he’d been through.  Tony needed to be prepared to help him recover.  Tony required the tools to _fix_ the situation because that was who he was, too, and what he did.  Someone needed to check for certain to see if Ty stole the serum.  There could be clues to other inventions and research procedures that had been stolen in the footage.  SHIELD had to identify _everyone_ involved.  He could come up with endless reasons and justifications.

This whole thing _started_ with a video, the video of Steve’s death – _kidnapping_.  So it made sense he ended it with the same.

Yeah, that was bullshit.  It was _all_ bullshit.

But he couldn’t stop.  Pandora’s fucking box was open, and it was spewing evil out like a geyser.  He was working through all the videos from the beginning, a horrible tale of Steve’s abduction and captivity told in snippets.  It was slow-going, both because it was so viciously exhausting and upsetting and because it was difficult to get time alone.  Tony couldn’t leave Steve’s side, no matter what Bruce said about Steve not knowing he was there.  He was eating in the room, sleeping in the uncomfortable chair each night, using the en suite bathroom to shower and change.  He was terrified that if he walked away for so much as a second he’d come back and find Steve gone.  Dead or kidnapped or that this all was some elaborate dream and he’d wake up alone in their bed in the Tower.  He was _still_ terrified about that days into this.  At any rate, those irrational fears made it difficult to sneak in time to watch on his phone because of all the commotion (of which there was surprising a lot considering nobody was doing anything but hoping and waiting).  He sure as hell didn’t want to get caught.  Of course that made it feel all the more like a disgusting, hidden crime or some such, and Tony could do without the fucking guilt of this heaped on top of all the other anguish.

Nearly three days after Tony had found Steve, Tony was sitting with him, listening to the ventilator swish and the monitors beep and the machinery hum.  It was all noise in the background.  He had moved his chair more to the head of the bed days ago, even though it was constantly in the way of the nurses.  It wasn’t so he could have a better view of Steve, although he did feel a little better being nearer to him.  No, it was so that he had a clear line of sight to the door so that he could both keep his phone angled privately toward him and immediately shut it off should someone come.  The door had no locks, so there was no way to prevent someone from walking in.  He did close it, though, and draw the blinds.  He felt better for the seclusion.  Safer.  Like this was acceptable.

It wasn’t.

Sliding his earbuds in, Tony glanced at Steve like he needed to check if he was regaining consciousness at all.  He wasn’t, of course, not with the damage still holding his body down and the anesthesia drugs being pumped into him.  His face wasn’t so pale now, though his eyes still seemed so tightly sealed.  Tony had given him a shave that morning.  He didn’t know why but all the sudden the dark stubble coating Steve’s face was repulsive to him.  He’d hunted through the toiletries Pepper had brought for his shaving kit, gotten a dish of warm water, and gone at it.  It was pretty difficult with the breathing tubes in place, but one of the nurses had caught him fumbling and had come to help.  Now Steve’s cheeks and chin were smooth again, and Tony had cupped them and kissed them, smiling and talking nonsense about how much better Steve looked and complained about how freaking lazy Steve always was about shaving.  It _seemed_ stupid, but it wasn’t.  Like putting Steve’s wedding ring back on his finger, it was something he had done to make Steve whole again, to get him back the way he was.  One small thing.

At any rate, Tony watched Steve sleep for a moment or two.  It didn’t ease his conscience much, but he needed the time to shore up his courage.  Thus far he’d watched the video where Ty had kidnapped Steve two more times.  He didn’t know why exactly.  Deep down he figured it was safe in a way.  He’d already seen it, knew the outcome, could piece it together with the footage from the rig itself and justify it all as a continuation of that.  Yesterday afternoon and last night he’d ventured into more of the footage of the kidnapping itself.  Ty was a sick, vindictive fuck (as if he hadn’t known that, but all of this only reaffirmed it).  He’d filmed so much of the whole damn abduction.  There was more footage from the Chameleon’s HUD of the Coast Guard pilot helping Ty secure Steve in the chopper with even more shackles that looked strong enough to hold down the Hulk.  There was also footage of Ty keeping Steve drugged and quiet as Larson bided his time and then lied his way through flying off the Coast Guard Cutter to bear some of the wounded Roxxon employees to Galveston.  Watching that had been excruciatingly frustrating and aggravating as hell.  Tony hadn’t been able to see Steve, covered as he was in the Chameleon polymer in the back of the rescue chopper, but he’d known he was there.  He had to be.  Steve _had_ to be bound and gagged and unconscious at Ty’s side, but Ty hadn’t paid him any mind.  In fact, he’d calmly observed the commotion, unseen in the stealth suit.  The whole thing had looked and played like a scene out of movie or something with medical personnel dealing with the fallout from some sort of disaster, EMTs flailing during a turbulent, emergency flight to treat burns and bad cuts and broken burns.  Nobody had noticed that Captain America was being kidnapped.  No one had suspected a thing.

Once or twice, Steve moaned in agony, but not one person even heard him over the chaos.

So there’d been that clip, almost an hour of torture where biting his tongue until he tasted blood was all Tony could do not to scream at his phone.  Then there was another he’d watched last night.  After Larson had landed at the hospital, the EMTs and hospital staff had quickly unloaded the injured victims.  And as soon as that was done, ViaStone employees had swarmed the chopper.  Whatever sedative they had used to subdue Steve had worn off, and he’d battled against his kidnappers fiercely when the shroud over him had been pulled away.  The soldiers Ty commanded had been quick to incapacitate him with a flurry of stun batons and angry shouts.  Once he was fairly limp, they’d carried him into a truck not unlike the semi they’d used to try and transport him in Alaska.  There they’d tried to get him onto a table, one equipped with manacles that Thor would likely have trouble breaking.  It was obvious from that and the sheer number of guards involved that Ty hadn’t taken any chances with his catch getting away.  The video feed had been interrupted when Ty had disengaged the suit, but it had resumed with a traditional camera, this one wielded by someone watching them treat Steve.

Treat was a generous term.

Tony had watched in horror as they’d held him down and tried to bind him while cutting his uniform off him to get at the burns.  The sound of his voice after a year of silence should have been amazing, a balm to Tony’s battered soul.  His cries were muffled by that awful gag and ragged with damaged breathing.  Still, it sounded like he was shouting _“who are you?”_ over and over again.  No one answered him.  An entire team of doctors had surrounded him, supported by the slew of black ops soldiers.  Even as hurt as Steve was, it took that many people to restrain him.  The guy with the video camera jockeyed around, trying to get a better vantage given the tangled mess of arms, torsos, and hands.  He’d searched for the best view like this was some sort of spectacle for entertainment.  More than once he’d caught sight of Steve’s face, red and streaked in soot where the ocean hadn’t quite washed it all away.  Someone had had a grip on his hair, trying to keep his head to the table.  The desperate terror and frustration in Steve’s eyes had been undeniable.  The agony.  The camera shifted down to the burns, huge splotches of charred uniform and bloody skin.  They were clearly third degree, the sort that killed or scarred if one was lucky.  It was a miracle Steve could fight at all.

But fight he had.  He’d wrenched his right arm away from the assholes trying to force him down with a ragged scream, slamming his elbow into the tac vest of one of the soldiers.  He hit with enough force to send the man flying, but another was right there to take his place.  There had been shouting, demands for drugs, for restraints, for someone to do something.  Steve howled, grabbing a doctor by the scrubs and yanking him clear across the table.  He kicked, sending more of them sprawling.  There’d been a crunch that sounded like bones breaking, a cry of pain, Ty’s people floundering in the face of Captain America’s strength.  For a split second, it seemed like Steve could get away.

He hadn’t.  He couldn’t.  Some asshole with a stun baton had come over and jabbed Steve in his side and fucking electrocuted him.  Steve had gone rigid with a scream that turned Tony’s stomach but not before he’d flailed and hit the guy with the camera.  The video had ended with the device smashing into the floor and a burst of digital distortion that didn’t quite cover the other soldiers shocking Steve until he was docile.

Tony hadn’t watched more since that, not until now anyway.  Truth be told, he’d been so sickened by those few harried minutes of the medical team trying to tend to Steve’s burns that the thought of watching any more literally twisted his stomach until he’d run to the bathroom and fought hard not to puke.  He’d struggled with continuing all day so far, but again that damn obsessive streak in him had him sitting here and now, with Steve’s comatose body right next to him and his thumb poised to begin the next video.  Tony’s eyes burned with weariness and so many tears he’d been struggling to hold back, and he shivered through a sigh.  “God,” he whispered while he worried and lingered.  Then that swishing and beeping got so goddamn loud, and he just couldn’t stand it anymore.  He pressed play.

_It was a brightly lit laboratory with gray walls and white floors.  There was a central examination table made of gleaming stainless steel.  It was equipped with a restraint system, both thick, wide, metallic cuffs and heavy-duty straps that lay limp upon its pristine surface.  If the machinery underneath the table was any indication, it was capable of moving, inclining or reclining, with sections that could be opened and maneuvered so that the arms were held perpendicular to the body and the legs were spread.  Surrounding the table were sleek computer screens, an array of them around a larger glass pane in the middle of the group.  Computer terminals lined shining steel counters around the lab, and there was research and medical equipment everywhere.  All of the monitors were idle, and on them the logo for ViaStone, with its mountain-like triangle and angular lettering, was spinning.  Everything was sterile, clean, unused, put together for a purpose that hadn’t yet come to pass.  Waiting._

_So were the people in the room, the men and women dressed in scrubs and lab coats.  Doctors.  Nurses.  Researchers and technicians.  One man stood out among the group in a crisp, navy blue suit and golden tie.  Ty.  “This really isn’t open for debate,” he snapped, strolling irately to the center of the room where the table lay empty.  He grabbed the side of it and frowned in dissatisfaction.  “You had orders to get started.”_

_A thin man with closely-cropped brown hair and thick glasses shook his head.  “Sir, I’m not trying to make you angry.”_

_Ty whirled, glaring.  “Well, you are.  You’re fucking pissing me off.”  The man – the doctor – flinched.  “You have any idea how much it cost me to bring Rogers here?  How much it’s costing me every day to keep him here?  How goddamn difficult it is to keep Captain America prisoner?”_

_“He suffered serious third degree burns.  His lungs were badly damaged from the fire.  Even the super soldier serum has limits, sir.  He needs more than a day to recover from something like that!”_

_“The more he recovers, the more he can fight back.  He’s already killed five people just getting him flown here.  He nearly destroyed the goddamn convoy in the hour it took them to drive from the airport to here.  If he’d done that where people were watching?  We’d have a real problem on our hands, much more serious than this bullshit.”_

_“It’s not…  We can’t anesthetize him,” the doctor argued.  “The sedative we developed isn’t strong enough to ensure he’ll stay unconscious, and even administering the amount required to try to keep him down for any length of time is dangerous.  That means we need to insert the implants with him awake and potentially struggling, which will make what we need to do much more complicated than it already is.”_

_“With multiple teams working at once, you should be able to get the implants in place in a couple hours.”_

_“Barely, sir!  And that’s assuming the serum doesn’t work against us while we do it!”_

_“All the more reason to get started now when the serum’s already busy with his other injuries.”_

_“We’ll be stressing an already stressed body.”_

_“You knew the terms when you agreed to this project.”_

_“I do know them.  I’m trying to make sure it succeeds, Doctor Stone,” the man argued.  “This entire procedure is extremely experimental.  Rushing through it is foolhardy.”_

_“I don’t think you’re hearing me.”  Ty stepped closer, glaring at the doctor, at the entire research team.  “It has cost me a fortune to make this possible.  A fortune in money, in effort, in time.  A fortune.”  He repeated that again, as if that could justify what they were doing.  “Part of that fortune is the ridiculous amount of money I am paying all of you.  A small fortune in and of itself.  I’m_ paying _you_ _to do a job._ You _work for me.  If you can’t do what I hired you to do, then I will find someone who can.”_

_The doctor cringed and shook his head.  “Sir–”_

_“And if you think I’ll allow you to walk away from this project…”  Ty shook his head.  “I may be a scientist, but I’m a businessman, first and foremost.  I cover my ass.”  The threat was brutally clear.  The entire staff went still with terror.  Ty pointed at the empty exam table.  “Now I want him in here.  I want the procedure started.  I want him wired up_ today. _”  He smiled that oily smile of his, but it was absolutely fake and nothing but cold and hateful.  “Move it.  You’re wasting my time.”_

_For a moment longer, the doctor stood his ground.  He backed down, though, when Ty’s grin slipped.  Without a word, the research team started rushing about, readying equipment, converting the space into a makeshift surgical theater.  The workers were utterly frantic.  Computers whirred to life.    The table was reconfigured for the procedure.  Trays of tools, scalpels and syringes and scissors, were wheeled closer.  A rolling cart followed.  It was opened, and drawers within it were pulled out.  A nurse wearing latex gloves started counting, cataloguing, and preparing a multitude of small, black objects with a spread of thin wires attached to each.  The implants._

_The video moved from the flurry of activity to focus on Ty.  He stood to the side now, and he was smoothing the sleeves of his suit jacket.  “You want me to continue recording, Doctor Stone?” asked a voice that was louder, the voice of the person handling the camera.  “Doctor Stone?”_

_Ty flicked a piece of lint from his clothes.  “Definitely.  For science.”  He grinned.  “Or at least to make a nice montage that I can send to Stark sometime.”_

_There was a bang and a scuffle off camera by the lab’s entrance.  The image went blurry and dizzying as it swung wildly.  There was Steve.  The soldiers were bringing him into the lab.  He was naked aside from a pair of thin shorts, which put the injuries he’d sustained on wicked display.  His arms were bound in front of him, ankles shackled, and chains were connected to the manacles and to a harness around his torso and neck.  He was still gagged, and he was being pulled forward, dragged like a dog on a leash._

_The second he saw the table before him, the research team flanking it and waiting, his eyes went wide.  Terror filled them, and his efforts to resist increased dramatically.  He dug the heels of his bare feet into the tiles, yanking back with all his strength, but the soldiers were prepared for his defiance.  It took an entire company of them to push and drag him deeper into the lab.  When he gave up on this disturbing game of tug of war and attacked, they retaliated violently, and he went limp under multiple stun batons sizzling and cracking across his back and jabbing into his sides._

_Even stunned he was rigid and difficult as the soldiers forced him to the table.  Kicking his legs out from under him to break his stance, they hefted him onto it.  He fought tooth and nail, but he was outnumbered and in too much pain to do anything to stop them.  The cameraman moved to continue to get a good view, the image bouncing and shaking before settling more at the foot of the table.  The soldiers were wrestling to get Steve’s arms free from the shackles, resituated, and bound to the table.  One fell back with a cry and a gush of blood, and that earned Steve another jolt with a stun baton that was severe enough to incapacitate him completely so the men could tie him down.  Once his wrists and ankles were secured, they put the straps on, tight across his calves, thighs, waist, and chest.  They were also looped over his biceps.  A metal cuff was locked around his neck before a final strap was placed across his forehead.  He was completely immobilized, held cruciform.  Like a butterfly pinned to a board, he was exposed and helpless._

_The doctor looked over the subject.  Steve was breathing hard and fast through his nose, chest heaving as much as possible in the restraints.  He was trembling and bathed in sweat.  His eyes were narrowed with fury and frustration.  There was fear there, too, beneath the steely defiance.  Terror.  The doctor shook his head, though it wasn’t obvious with what he was displeased.  “Get him on the monitors,” he ordered tensely, and his staff came closer to do just that.  Most of them were very clearly intimidated by the prospect of touching Captain America, even with him totally at their mercy.  “Now!”_

_Things snapped quickly into motion.  The computer systems came to life while the techs and nurses attached sensors to Steve’s body and set up scanners around him.  The camera turned to get a view of the main monitor, where the outline of a male, human body appeared.  The doctor took a tablet from one of his assistants, unhappily tapping at the screen, and a bunch of red dots flashed on the diagram in various places.  Along the arms and legs and wrists and ankles.  In the torso and neck.  In the head.  Down the spine of the translucent rendering.  They covered all of the body like a hideous map._

_The doctor sighed.  “Make note that it’s Friday, October 9 th, at 8:32 a.m. and we are beginning the initial test procedure of inserting the implants into the subject’s major muscle groups in his left and right forearms and upper arms, including grafting into the biceps and triceps groups as well as into radial groove of the humerus with–”_

_“No tests,” Ty ordered coolly from where he stood off to the side.  He stalked closer to the doctor.  “I designed this system myself, laid out every step for you to follow.  There’s no need to err on the side of caution here.”_

_“If we make mistakes–”_

_“He’ll heal,” Ty finished.  He looked exasperated.  “That’s the fucking point, isn’t it?  To tap into the serum and everything it can do?_ No _tests.  The entire procedure from start to finish.  How long until we can hook him up to the machine?”_

_The doctor shook his head.  “It’s impossible to predict.”_

_“Read the fucking instructions I gave you and do the goddamn math,” Ty hissed.  “Fifty-eight implants.  Get started.”_

_They did.  More than a dozen nurses and doctors swarmed the table.  The guards stepped back to form a perimeter around the area, but they didn’t lower their weapons.  Ty came to the head of the table and looked down on his prisoner.  Again it was with absolutely no compassion, no touch of human concern. He was appraising a tool he was about to use.  A means to an end.  Steve’s nostrils flared, and he struggled harder against the restraints with a loud clank.  Ty laughed, shaking his head.  “Yeah.  How about no.”  To that Steve groaned in frustration, squirming harder and harder, glaring and biting down on the bit still between his teeth and strapped around his face.  Ty didn’t care at all.  His eyes roamed appreciatively down the length of Steve’s body, admiring it despite the seeping burns and cuts and welts.  Then he turned away.  “Alright, I’m out.  Call me when he’s ready to be hooked up the machine.  Today,” he warned again, and he walked away, his expensive dress shoes clacking on the floor._

_The medical and research teams rushed closer.  The camera stayed focused on Steve, stayed with him as they prepped him for surgery, as needles were thrust into his skin and tools were readied.  The team donned the appropriate sterile garb even though the risk of infection to the subject and to those present was nonexistent.  Then they divided into two separate groups on Steve’s left and right sides._

_The lead doctor took a scalpel, but he just stared at the meat of Steve’s upper arm, at the bulge of the bicep there.  He stared and hesitated.  Monitors beeped and buzzed.  The sound of Steve’s fast-paced wheezing was so loud in the stiff, unbreakable silence.  Eventually the man cleared his throat.  “We’ll need to work fast with the serum healing him.  Doctor Stone wasn’t able to get exact data on how quickly the enhanced healing factor works, so…”  He sighed.  “Quickly.  Let’s start here and move to the lower extremities.  Then we’ll flip him and work on the dorsal implants.”  Steve squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  The doctor swallowed hard enough that his Adam’s apple jerked.  “Alright.  Ready?” he asked his companions._

_There were a series of brief nods from most the rest of the group, but no one moved to do a thing.  Sweat covered the doctor’s face.  He kept staring at the unblemished flesh of Steve’s bicep, wary and uncertain.  Then he lowered the razor-sharp edge of the scalpel to skin and cut._

_Softly Steve grunted.  Blood immediately poured from the wound.  The nurse there was slow to mop it up, jolting clumsily into motion.  The doctor on the other side, a red-haired woman, began her incision as well.  After a moment, she shook her head.  “This isn’t…”_

_“Cut deeper.  The serum has enhanced his skin.”_

_They did.  Red started to puddle beneath Steve’s arms.  Steve did more than grunt now.  He gasped, twitching, wriggling as much as he could.  “Hold him.”  The people standing around and watching shuffled closer to do that, hands pressing Steve’s arms down even more.  The camera lost its view a moment, but its bearer moved again and got a particularly gruesome view of the doctor slicing into Steve’s arm._

_Steve was shaking hard.  He was trying to keep quiet.  His expression was screwed into a tight grimace, teeth white around the gag in his mouth as he ground his jaw against it.  That was about the only movement he was allowed.  The video shifted between his face and the scalpels working down into the flesh of his arms.  “Get the implant ready,” barked the doctor.  More blood was wiped away.  The implant with its tail of thin wires was handed to the doctor.  It looked like a tiny octopus with tentacles meant to sink deep into flesh and muscle and bone._

_And that was exactly what they did.  The doctor positioned the implant, inserting the wires.  For a few long, torturous minutes, the team worked, and Steve panted through the gag.  Eventually, he couldn’t keep quiet any more, whimpering and moaning.  One of the nurses handing surgical tools and swabs to the doctor and his assistants dropped what she was holding.  Apparently the concept of surgery without the benefit of anesthesia was finally sinking in.  “He can feel it,” she whispered, horrified and stricken._

_“Of course he can feel it!” snapped the doctor at the pathetically stupid and obvious comment.  The girl’s eyes were huge and full of tears, and she barely staggered away.  The sounds of retching were loud off-camera.  “Oh, for God’s sake!  Someone take her place.”  One of the monitors started to beep faster, and Steve yelped, this time yanking at the restraints.  “Goddamn it, I said hold him!  And we need careful eyes on his vitals.  How are you doing, Doctor Carson?”_

_“Making progress.  Drill.”  The camera turned to the other side, where the surgeon was working with the wires.  Steve was twisting, trying to see what was in his body.  When the thin tip of the orthopedic drill came into view, his eyes widened and he shook his head.  His muffled cries ramped up louder and louder.  “Placing the anchor.”_

_The drill hummed to life, spinning wicked, and Steve started screaming._

“Breathe, sir.”

JARVIS’ soft, compassionate reminder yanked Tony out of the scene.  He jerked, nearly dropping his phone.  “Jesus, God,” he moaned, cold sweat rushing over his skin in a prickling, awful wave.  He blinked tears away and saw Steve laying in the hospital bed, as unmoving as he had been minutes before.  Bandages peeked out from the sleeves of his hospital gown where they were wrapped around his biceps.  Tony saw blood that wasn’t there, crimson staining the pristine white of gauze in his mind.  The wounds from the implants had long stopped seeping, but it was _all_ he could see.  Blood.  And he could hear the whir of that drill over the beeping and swishing and the thunder of his own pulse in his ears.  He could hear the sound of Steve screaming.  His stomach roiled, clenched, and he glanced at the slightly ajar door of the bathroom.  “Oh, fuck, God, I’m gonna…”

There was a knock at the other door.  It opened a split second later, and Clint was there.  Tony swallowed down the bile threatening to burst up his throat and stood shakily.  Clint’s expression shattered in alarm.  “Tony, are you okay?”  He rushed into the room and grabbed Tony’s arms.  “Holy shit, man.  You’re shaking.”

It was like that time a couple days ago with Bruce all over again.  Tony pulled his earbuds off and quickly shut his phone down so the video would stop.  He fumbled and floundered like a spastic idiot for a second, pocketing his stuff and wiping at his wet eyes.  “I’m fine,” he gasped.  “I’m–”

“Has something happened to Steve?”  That was Thor, pushing in behind Clint and rushing to the bedside.  Alarm didn’t quite describe the look on his face, his blue eyes wide with fright and his face pale.  He had his blond hair gathered into a pony tail at the base of his neck, and he was dressed in jeans and a black shirt that did nothing to hide how absolutely ripped he was.  He laid a massive palm to Steve’s forehead.

Thor had always been one for friendly and easy shows of affection, overly gregarious and boisterous at times, but right now the thought of _anyone_ touching Steve was making Tony’s skin crawl.  “He’s fine!” he snapped too quickly and too sharply.  Both Thor and Clint looked at him like he was crazy, and he probably was, but he was so fucking shaken that he couldn’t help it.  He took a deep breath to try and calm himself.  It wasn’t overly successful, but he managed not to completely fall apart, so it was a win.  “He’s fine.  I’m fine.  It was just…”  He shook his head, wiping at his eyes and cheeks again, scrambling for a shred of equanimity.  “A waking nightmare, I guess.”  That was as good a term as any.  “Sorry.  This, uh…”  His eyes welled again before he could stop them.  “Fuck, I’m so tired.”

Clint grimaced.  For a second, it seemed as if he’d press Tony further, but he just nodded.  “We know.  You can go get some sleep, if you want.  Thor and I can stay for a bit.  Steve’s–”

“No,” Tony said, and again that was too fast and agitated.  He shook his head, feeling jittery and dirty as he pulled the blankets up over Steve’s body a little more.  It wasn’t like they were out of place, but he needed to do something, like it justified that _he_ had to be the one to stay.  “No, I’m fine.  I’m good.  I want to be with him.  I have to.”

Thor shook his head.  “Truly, Tony, it is no bother.  I am happy to sit with Steve and keep vigil.”  He frowned, struggling with his own emotions, and looked down on Steve’s lax face.  “It is the least I can do.”

“No, really.  It’s fine.  I’ll, uh, get some sleep later.”  Tony sniffled and summoned some strength from somewhere, nodding resolutely.  “Bruce is coming in a bit anyway.  The latest round of bloodwork looked promising.”

Immediately the mood took a tentative turn toward hope.  “Yeah?” Clint asked.

Thor smiled.  “He does look better today.  More color to his face.”

Tony nodded, rubbing his hand roughly through his own hair.  “Yeah, I think so, too.  His organ function is better.  Kidneys, lungs, liver…  Heart.  Things look like they might be stabilizing.”  Despite it all, a grin broke out on his face.  It was sudden and just a bit giddy.  “Not out of the woods stabilizing, but it’s a step in the right direction.  And his blood chemistry’s getting back to normal.  But they’re, uh…”  His voice cracked.  Just like that, the happiness was gone.  God, he was a fucking mess.  “They’re taking him to have some more tests in a bit to get a better look at the, um…  The damage to his brain and spinal cord.  The inflammation’s down some, so they thought they could get a better idea of what’s going on.  It’s a PET scan, I think.  Maybe an MRI?  I honestly wasn’t paying too much attention when the doctor came to explain.”

“Hey,” Clint comforted, coming closer and pulling Tony into a hug.  Tony let himself be pulled, let himself be embraced.  He didn’t even stiffen, even though his skin was still crawling.  Christ, if Clint and Thor only know…  “It’s okay.  You’ve got every right to check out a little.  And there isn’t going to be any damage.  You know why?  Because Cap’s too fucking strong.”

Tony couldn’t stop himself.  He choked on a sob, grabbing Clint’s black SHIELD jacket hard and holding on.  “I know,” he finally managed in a strangled voice.  In his head all he could see was Steve struggling, fighting, even burned and bound and gagged and completely at Ty’s mercy.  “I know!”

Thor reached over and set his hand to Tony’s shoulder.  They stood that way a moment more before Tony got himself together and moved away, sniffling and wiping at his eyes anew.  “Anyway, did you find out anything more?”

Clint’s face hardened.  He sighed unhappily.  “More of the same.  Stone’s people are falling over themselves to save their own asses.  The federal prosecutors can’t make deals fast enough.  You, uh, don’t need the details.”

Tony grimaced.  He already knew them and knew them better than anyone.  “Fury’s keeping it locked down, right?”

“Yeah.  I mean, of course though the basics are public knowledge now.  And the shit’s hitting the fan.  ViaStone’s stock plummeted, for what that’s worth.  The company lost billions of dollars practically overnight.  They’re tanking.”

“Yeah, Pep told me this morning.”  Tony closed his eyes.  “What about Ty himself?”

The scowl on Clint’s face got impossibly deeper.  He hesitated, and that more than anything told Tony all he needed to know.  “There’s no sign of him.  SHIELD’s had people combing every millimeter of that road in Fairbanks, Tony, and the surrounding woods.  They’re all over that research installation, all over the city and the areas around it.  They can’t find a thing.  If he died, his body completely burned in the fire, but the forensics team tells me that’s not very likely.”

Tony sank back into his chair.  “Just fuck,” he groaned.  “It’s the same goddamn thing all over again.”

“You think he is alive and will make another attempt to hurt Steve,” Thor surmised glumly.

“I don’t know what I think,” Tony said, and the world was well and truly fucked up if that was the case.

Thor shook his head.  “He will not touch him again,” he swore.  His eyes were dark, his voice thick with anger.  “Never.  I swear to you, Tony.  This man has committed atrocities against Steve that are unfathomable.  His jealousy and vindictiveness have wrought horrors that will stay with us all far beyond these difficult days.  He has damaged you, damaged our family.  If he has survived, I will take great pleasure in destroying him.”

As much as the idea of Thor thrashing the life out of Ty seemed nice, again Tony doubted it would do much to ease anyone’s grief or anger.  Frankly, the thought of Ty being out there made him so goddamn uneasy.  Over the last couple days, he’d managed to force his concerns to the back of his mind.  Now, hearing that the SHIELD teams had definitely failed to find any of his remains…  “I want my guys here, too.  Stark Industries Security.  Work it out with Happy.”

“Tony,” Clint started, “the STRIKE Team has it in hand.  And we’re all here besides.”

“I don’t care.  Have SI do the perimeter or watch the security feeds or _something_ for now.  More eyes and more ears.  I want _more_ security.”  Tony ignored another look that Clint and Thor not so surreptitiously shared.  “I don’t care if you guys think it’s crazy.  I know Thor’s practically guarding the door and Fury’s got this place locked down tighter than tight and you and Tash are keeping an eye on things and Banner’s ready and willing…  I know.  But Ty can’t _ever_ come near Steve again.”

“I said he will not,” Thor offered once more, concerned his initial oath wasn’t good enough.  “I swear on my life.”

“He fucking kidnapped Steve and _none_ of us figured it out,” Tony argued.  “SHIELD was all over that oil rig, all over the investigation, and Ty took him right in front of us all.  It took me a year to put it together, and even then it was all a stroke of good luck that I did.  If Ty’s not dead, he’s a threat.  As soon as Steve’s better–”  His voice wavered again, but he stopped it from cracking this time.  “–we’re taking him home.  I want him somewhere where we’re in charge of the security.”  _Where I’m in charge._

Clint stared, troubled.  He didn’t argue, though.  “Whatever you want, Tony.”

“That’s what I want.  I want Steve home.”  He’d never been so fucking sure of _anything._   “As soon as we can move him.”  The two of them looked at each other again.  He really couldn’t stand it.  It was the same paranoia, that same feeling of being judged or doubted that had plagued him the entire time he’d been looking for Steve, and it made his stomach roil and gooseflesh prickle anew.  “That it?  I just, um…”  He didn’t want to be rude, but he wanted them gone.  All the sudden his phone was burning a hole through his jeans pocket.  “I’m fine.  I just want to be alone with Steve.”

“Are you certain?”  Thor shook his head.  “You do not need to carry this alone.  As I said before, I am happy to remain with Steve while you eat and rest.  I swear to you, Tony, he will not be alone for a second.”

It took all his patience to stay calm.  “If you want to help, make sure no one gets in.  No one aside from us.  Is someone vetting the staff?”  He hadn’t thought of that before.  Christ.  “Mostly it’s been the same folks, but–”

“They’re good,” Clint assured.  “Of course we made sure.  Nat’s vetted _everyone_ at Fury’s request.”

“Okay,” Tony said.  “Fine.  Then keep making sure.”

“Tony–”

“I really am fine,” Tony said with as much bravado as he could muster.  “Don’t worry.”

It was clear they were.  They all were, every time they came and Tony insisted he didn’t need help.  But Clint and Thor left with more murmurs of solace and promises to return to help and brotherly, affectionate touches to Steve and Tony himself.  Like he always was, Tony was trapped between begging them to stay and throwing them out faster.  After a year of this, the cruel whims of obsession dragging and damning him, he should have known better.

But he didn’t, and a couple agonizing minutes later he was back in the chair with the door closed and his earbuds in and his phone in his hands.  The video was still there, exactly as he left it.  “JARVIS,” he gasped after a couple painful seconds.  “Can you fast-forward to whatever comes after this?  Did they record the entire…”  His throat burned, the sounds of Steve’s screaming and that goddamn drill haunting his thoughts.  “I can’t watch it.  I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” JARVIS gently recommended.  “This serves no purpose.”

“What happens after they finish getting the implants in him?”

“Sir, please.”

Tony bolstered his resolve.  “Show me.”

There was a pause.  “I always do,” the AI said sadly, equal parts reluctant and resigned.  The video jumped.

_And the lab was there again.  The surgical team had backed away from the table.  A few of the soldiers were still there, weapons holstered since it seemed pretty obvious their prisoner was beyond struggling at this point.  Actually, the subject was limp on the table, cuffs and straps still in place.  The camera was slowly roaming over his body, at the new, bloody implants now precisely positioned in his arms, in his shoulders and torso, down his legs and feet.  In his neck.  There were smears of red against white skin, the remains of a mess that had been quickly wiped up.  Steve was moaning softly through the gag, eyes closed, shivering in shock.  He was barely conscious._

_“Make note of the time,” said the lead doctor.  The man was bathed in perspiration.  He seemed utterly exhausted, bent and frazzled._

_“It’s 2:46 p.m.,” answered one of the nurses.  “Total elapsed time: six hours, fourteen minutes.”_

_“Did anyone call Doctor Stone?”_

_“He’s on his way down, sir.”_

_There was no more talk then, the team continuing with clean-up.  Nurses measured Steve’s vitals.  They touched him hesitantly, though he didn’t react at all.  Surgical tools were taken away to be cleaned, and bloody pads and swabs were gathered to be discarded.  A pile of broken implants, wet with blood, lay on one of the trays a nurse was taking away.  The doctor looked frustrated as he watched, but he said nothing, working instead at the monitors to make his reports._

_A few minutes later, the door to the lab opened.  Ty stalked in.  He didn’t look happy.  “I heard you only put in 75% of the implants successfully.”_

_The doctor frowned.  “Doctor Stone–”_

_“What part of my instructions didn’t you fucking understand?”_

_“We did our best, sir!  This has never been attempted before, let alone on serum-enhanced tissues.  We weren’t able to place some of the implants, and those we did…”  Helplessness had the doctor shaking his head.  “The serum is already pushing them back out.”_

_“Fucking bullshit,” Ty growled.  He turned around and walked to the table to look down at Steve, and there was nothing but disgust in his voice.  “This is unacceptable.”_

_“He’s healing faster than we anticipated,” the other man explained.  “His tissues are resilient, sir!  You know this!”_

_Ty continued to appraise Steve with fury in his glare.  Steve wasn’t aware enough to notice.  Everyone else did, though.  The entire room was watching and waiting.  “Wire him up.”_

_The doctor was surprised, but the expression was short-lived as if he was internally chastising himself for not knowing better.  “He’s not ready–”_

_Ty whirled.  “Will it work?”_

_“Yes, in theory, but–”_

_“Then wire him up.  Drain him.”  Ty’s voice was nearly a shout.  When no one moved at all, he lost his temper completely.  His eyes flashed, and his voice rose.  “I have waited forever for this!  Forever!”_

_“Sir…”_

_“Fucking hook him up to the machine and drain him!  Now!  Now while we can!”_

_The room exploded in activity anew.  Workers crowded around Steve.  The table was adjusted, raised numerous feet, and now the holes in the bottom of it became visible.  A group of technicians rolled a large item closer.  It seemed to be a long silver box with winding tubes inside, and numerous cables were housed on each side.  The techs pulled them out, extending them across the couple of feet to the table and driving the metal prongs on the ends into the holes.  Into the implants in Steve’s back.  Though the camera couldn’t see Steve anymore, it picked up his soft, garbled cries.  The table was lowered again after a few minutes, and more cables were attached everywhere, in every implant that was still functional.  The monitors lit up, diagraming the successful connections.  Steve moaned._

_And Ty reclined on another gurney that had been wheeled in.  He’d taken his suit jacket off, undone the cuff-links on his dress shirt, and rolled up his sleeves.  Two techs were carefully and gently fitting two of the cables from the machine’s opposite side to the implants he had in his wrists.  “I want to feel it,” he demanded, his voice unhinged with desperation, with hunger.  With greed.  “I want to feel it now.”_

_“You will, sir,” assured one of the techs._

_“Then fire it up.”  The workers scrambled to finish.  Cables by the dozens stretched across Steve’s quivering body.  He cried louder, shaking his head as much as he could, twitching in the restraints.  His eyes were squeezed shut.  Ty glared malignantly as if the whole room utterly disgusted him.  “Come on!  Come on!  Turn it on!”_

_The doctor fumbled at the computer terminal, flanked by assistants.  He shouted to the nurses to keep close watch of the subject’s vitals.  Techs rushed about, touching controls and activating equipment, and then finally the machine next to Steve hummed as it came to life.  Steve thrashed with renewed panic, shouting behind the gag, but what he said was indecipherable and he wasn’t going anywhere.  The camera stayed focused on him long enough to ascertain that before turning to Ty._

_Ty was moving as well, fidgeting anxiously.  “What’s taking so long?”_

_“We need to calibrate.”_

_He grimaced in revulsion at a particularly loud cry from Steve.  “Can’t anybody shut him up?  Jesus.”_

_Nobody answered, racing through the final preparations, and when the doctor nodded and the techs engaged the system, the tubes inside the machine glowed red._

_Steve screamed.  The camera whipped to him, catching the horrific image of his back arching, bowing unnaturally against the restraints.  Some of the straps across him snapped.  The cuff around his right wrist bent and twisted but didn’t break.  The metal around his neck kept him from moving further.  Alarms wailed, warning of tachycardia and skyrocketing blood-pressure, and the team floundered to get him down, to get him under control, but they all backpedaled like he’d turned to poison when the cables glowed blue._

_And the blue went right into the machine, drawn into it, sucked through the cables into the tubes before being pumped back out, like energy moving through a conduit into the cables on the other side, filtered and concentrated and sent into Ty’s arms so that his flesh around his wrists and up his arms shone pale blue and his skin seemed to get firmer, clearer,_ younger, _and_ _Steve was screaming and screaming until his voice broke from lack of air and Ty shivered and groaned, “God, more…”_

_And–_

The phone went dark.  “No,” JARVIS said softly.

Tony jerked.  Again everything was over and over so suddenly, and he was left reeling in the fact that he was _here_ , in Steve’s room in the ICU with Steve comatose beside him.  He was alone.  “JARVIS,” he gasped, sobbing.  “What the hell…”

“No.”

“JARVIS–”

“Sir,” the AI began calmly, “contrary to what you think and say, I have not simply argued with you since Captain Rogers was taken from us.  Though I have expressed my concerns, I have quite often abided by your wishes and tolerated your stubbornness even when I believed said wishes were detrimental to your mental or physical health.  I can also concede that, were it not for those wishes and your stubbornness, Captain Rogers might not have been found and rescued.”  Tony choked on his tears.  “But I will not idly watch you torture yourself.  Not like this.  As I said before, this serves no purpose.”

“I have to know,” Tony whispered, watching his reflection in the dark, sleek screen of his phone.  Tears dripped and splattered on it, running down his face.  “I have to.”

“I do not disagree necessarily that you need to know what Captain Rogers endured.  However, knowing it and _seeing_ it are two different things.  The former may be beneficial to both of you as he recovers, but the latter…  This is reckless self-punishment, sir.  Self-flagellation, in a sense, and I will not be party to it.  I cannot allow you to continue like this.”

Tony dropped his phone on the side of Steve’s bed and buried his face into his hands.  “Why not?” he moaned around a soft cry.  All this pain inside him felt absolutely overwhelming.  _“Why not?”_

“The reason has not changed, and it is one we have all told you,” JARVIS answered kindly.  “You must listen to it now.”

“What?” Tony whimpered.

“Captain Rogers…  Steve.”  It was weird to hear JARVIS say that.  Despite the years Tony and Steve had been together, despite all the times Steve had asked the AI to refer to him casually by his first name rather than formally with “sir” or “captain”, JARVIS never had before.  “I know him very well and respect him very much, so I am certain beyond any doubt that he does not want you to hurt yourself for him.”

_Steve doesn’t want this._

Tony opened eyes he’d squeezed shut and saw Steve right before him.  The ventilator was still swishing.  The monitors were still beeping.  Steve’s vitals were still blinking and printing and scrolling all over the computer monitors.

But when Tony reached for his hand, it felt so much warmer.

* * *

They fell into an agreement of sorts after that.  Tony _was_ a stubborn, impulsive bastard, so he refused to let JARVIS view and simply narrate the remainder of the fifty some odd videos to him.  JARVIS was stubborn, too, and he refused to let Tony see anything he deemed too disturbing.  Of course they argued and debated and bickered about what “too” disturbing meant, because the whole fucking thing was nothing _but_ disturbing.  JARVIS firmly decided that any footage he would clearly consider torture firmly off-limits, and Tony was forced to agree.  Frankly, he didn’t think he could stand to watch anymore of what he had seen.

That didn’t make the rest of it any better.  After the disaster of the morning, Tony took a hasty shower and settled in to continue with his composure reaffirmed and hopefully more steadfast.  The next videos were mostly the research team making comments about the procedure itself, dictating their notes, bouncing ideas off each other.  Ty was there.  He was visibly _glowing._   The vitality was potent, practically measurable it was so obvious.  Tony felt sick, and even though he knew there was information to be had here about the science and medicine and technology behind the machine that had stolen Steve’s biochemical energy and transferred it to someone else, he didn’t fucking care.  He couldn’t stand Ty beaming in his proverbial moment of triumph.  He shut the video off.

The day wore on.  While the doctors took Steve for the brain scans, Pepper stopped by and dragged Tony down to eat.  He didn’t want to go, but she was emphatic, claiming that without Steve in the room he didn’t have a leg to stand on about being needed.  Tony didn’t bother trying to fight.  He was pretty sure Bruce sicced Pepper on him because she was there the instant he started arguing with the nurses and doctors that he should be allowed to accompany Steve to the scans.  He didn’t have the energy to debate with her, so he let her take him to the cafeteria.  She loaded his plate with food and went on about the business and about the press and about, well, anything and everything.  She was talking for the sake of talking.  He ate, pretended to listen and appreciate it, but his mind was firmly back in Steve’s room and wondering what more there was to see.  Pepper sighed, saw through his ruse, and told him President Ellis himself had called a couple times since Steve was found.  He wanted to speak to Tony to express his relief and his concern, to ask if there was anything that could be done.  There was nothing to be done, and Tony had no interest in talking to him.

No, the only thing he cared about was getting back to Steve.  By the time he finally escaped Pepper’s attentions, Steve was back in his room, still unmoving, still unconscious.  Tony pressed the doctors and nurses who were settling him in for information, but they knew nothing about the results of the scans.  Frustrated and itching with it, he went back to the videos the second he was alone.

JARVIS brought up the next in the queue without Tony’s order.  He saw a fairly sizeable cell, well-lit and well-kept.  Gray and white, like everything else so far.  Tony quickly realized this was another section of the basement in the research installation he’d raided, that if he hadn’t found Steve in the tank and looked just a moment or two more, he’d have come upon this place.  At any rate, the cell being clean and nicely illuminated didn’t change the fact it was a fucking cell.  There was a cot in there with a thin blanket, a toilet attached to the wall, but nothing else, nothing aside from the camera clearly affixed to the upper right corner.  The date on the video indicated it was filmed the day after the procedure.  Steve was on the cot.  The bonds and shackles were gone from his wrists and ankles at last, and his mouth was free of the gag.  Tony sighed, relaxing when he saw that though he felt like he had no right to.

Steve had spent the next few hours unconscious, shuddering from the throes of shock.  When he’d finally woken up, he’d scrambled to his hands and knees and thrown up immediately, dry heaving over the toilet because there didn’t seem to be anything in him to vomit.  That had gone on for what felt like forever, and when it had finally ended, Steve had collapsed on the floor beside the toilet.  He’d shivered there, curled into a ball, for a very long time, and Tony wondered how goddamn cold it had been in that cell.

But then he heard the sob.  It was soft, pained.  Steve never cried much.  There’d been wetness in his eyes at their wedding, beautiful, joyful tears.  A few times when his nightmares were bad, but he always clamped down hard on it.  Even when Peggy Carter had died a couple years back, he’d fought so hard to hold himself together.  Only when Tony had gotten him back to the hotel after the cold, rainy funeral had he finally coaxed Steve into letting go, into crying openly.  That was the only time.  That and now.  Tony watched as Steve shuddered on the video, sobbing louder, burying his face into his hands.  He watched with his heart breaking with desperation to _do_ something, but he could only reach over and grab Steve’s left hand on the hospital bed and squeeze, like touching him now could ease the pain and fear he’d been feeling then.

Eventually Steve had calmed himself in the cell.  Eventually he’d picked himself up so that he was sitting.  He’d scrubbed his hand down his face, wiping away the wetness there, and steadied his breathing further.  Then he’d taken stock of himself, wincing as he’d looked over the partially healed burns and deep bruises.  He’d looked over his arms, at the redness around his wrists in anger before finally and fearfully touching the implant in the crook of his left elbow.  He got bolder, pulling at it a little with a wince before sweeping his fingers down to his wrist and examining the one there just above where the cuff had enclosed his arm.  _“Damn,”_ he’d whispered.  He’d glanced at his hand, turned away, but then looked back.  Stared at his left ring finger.  Shivered again, flexed his fingers, and balled his hand into a fist.  _“Tony…”_

He’d seen his wedding ring was gone.

Maybe he’d made the connection that this was _more_ than simply some mad scientist after the serum, that it was personal somehow.  He’d never met Ty, didn’t know of the bad blood between Ty and Tony because Tony had never told him, but this had him wondering.  Or thinking of Tony drove the will to fight back into him, the will to think and do more than be a docile captive.  No matter the reason, he’d gotten up on his feet and started examining the cell.  He’d banged on the door, tried to break it open, but there was no handle on his side, nothing to give him leverage.  As weak and wobbly as he’d been, he’d tested the walls, climbed onto the cot and jumped to hit the ceiling, pounded on everything he could reach, searched every inch of the cell over and over again.  Someone else would have cried or screamed or demanded his release.  Steve had been calm, collected, methodical about hunting for anything he could use to escape or defend himself.  Tony couldn’t help the rush of pride.

When there was nothing, Steve had settled on the cot, the singular blanket around his nearly naked body.  Tony watched him pick at the implants in his body for the next hour.  JARVIS sped through the footage.  Steve would sit and scratch at his arms and then stand and check his surroundings anew and then sit and scratch again.  “JARVIS, normal speed,” Tony ordered when Steve suddenly stopped pacing this time to lean in the corner of the cell.  It was hard to see exactly what he was doing.  He’d figured out where the camera was – _so fucking smart, Steve_ – and he was hiding from it.  Tony knew that.  Still, it was aggravating not being able to determine what was going on.

Then it became all too obvious.  _The serum._   The serum had forced the implant near his wrist out.  Just like Bruce said it would, it had driven the foreign item from Steve’s bones, muscles, and skin.  Steve had held the bloody, mangled lump in his hand, shock on his face, before closing his fist around it and crushing it more.  He’d dropped it on the floor and looked up at the camera, hatred and defiance in his eyes.

The door to the cell had banged open, and the soldiers rushed inside, and Steve had attacked.

The video ended.  “This leads to the first escape attempt, I believe,” JARVIS announced through the earbuds.  “There is no video for another two hours, and the next is only a three and a half minutes long.”

Tony drew a deep breath and nodded.  “Play it.”

_The room was wide, a lobby of sorts, and packed to the brim with security forces.  The doors were behind it, bleeding light into the shot that was oversaturating everything.  It was back to the handheld camera, and the video was dancing around almost gleefully as the company of soldiers brought the prisoner back into the building.  Steve was bound and hobbled, dragged in by his arms, by his hair, pushed and shoved and thrown at the feet of Ty.  Ty glared down at Steve like he was an insect.  Steve glared right back.  He was beaten, bleeding from all over, covered in mud and dirt from the woods.  He was gagged again, too, like he wasn’t even worthy of the privilege speaking._

_Ty spotted the places where the implants had come loose, the bloody holes and welts all over Steve’s body.  Disgust shone in his eyes.  Aggravation.  It was clear what he was thinking._

_All that work…  Wasted._

_“Goddamn it,” Ty snarled.  “This is completely unacceptable.  How the fuck did he get out?  That should never have happened!”_

_One of the soldiers shook his head.  “Sir–”_

_“Get him back down and fix this!”_

_Silently Steve lurched forward from the men holding him.  Ty jolted back in fear, even though Steve didn’t get that close to him before the soldiers stopped him.  The guards shoved him down for his impertinence, viciously pressing his shoulders and face into the floor.  The same soldier glowered at Steve.  He was harried and bloodied and winded.  He was furious.  “Sir, he killed Hobbs.  He killed Delaney.  Bryer’ll be lucky if he walks again.”_

_“Do you think I give a fuck?”  Ty shook his head.  “Stupid fucking bullshit.  Take him back down and get him cleaned up!”_

_“With no punishment?” the soldier hissed._

_Ty turned away.  “Whatever.  Break him for all I care.”_

_The angry guard didn’t even wait for Ty to leave.  He hauled Steve up by his hair, ordering his men to get him to his feet.  The soldiers were shouting, slavering practically at the idea of Captain America’s helplessness.  And he was helpless.   The men held him steady as the angry guard belted him across the face.  “No one’s coming for you!” he snarled, a fist finding its way into Steve’s hair again to lift his head and expose his face to another blow.  “No one will find you!  No one!  You think the Avengers are gonna get you out?  You think Stark will?”  The guy laughed cruelly.  “Give up.  You belong to Mr. Stone now.  Mr. Stone owns you, and you better fucking start learning that.”  Steve growled, struggling anew, but they only held him firmer and hit him harder._

_The camera filmed them kicking and punching Steve for a couple minutes, steady and uncaring.  It was awful, brutal, the sounds of laughing and skin striking skin and Steve’s pained grunts and groans so loud.  The lead soldier’s eyes glowed in sadistic glee as he watched his team torture their captive.  “Maybe we should do some experiments of our own.  I wonder what it takes to make Captain America beg?”_

The video shut off.  Tony swallowed thickly and looked up.  “Am I to assume these assholes do that?”

JARVIS paused.  “There is no footage.  Daily medical logs indicate they beat him, sir.  I cannot speak as to whether or not they broke his spirit.”

Tony’s blood went cold.  The way JARVIS said that…  _God._   Two days ago, when he put Steve’s wedding ring back on his finger, when Bruce had promised him that Steve was strong, he’d been so sure.   He’d been sure that Steve had fought against Ty, had struggled and stayed firm.  He’d been certain Ty couldn’t have broken him.

“No.”  He made himself say that almost subconsciously.  It was his faith in Steve speaking.  “Steve’s too strong.  He wouldn’t have given up.”  _He wouldn’t have given up on me._

“No, he would not have.”  JARVIS didn’t sound sure.  He changed the subject, but Tony heard it all the same.  “Two days later they subjected Captain Rogers to the same surgical procedure to replace and repair the implants.  I have scanned their notes and logs.  By that time, his body had forced out almost all of the foreign items.”  Tony grimaced.  He didn’t know whether that was a godsend or a curse.  That was how fucked up this whole situation was.  “There is more footage of subsequent surgical procedures.  I count another dozen or so attempts to place the implants over the next five months.”

“And after they cut him open and wired him up, Ty drained him again.”

“Every time.  Sometimes for hours on end.”

 _Oh, God._   Tony shook his head and darkly muttered, “Trying to get ahead of the serum.”

“Precisely.  They once left him connected to the machine for two days before he suffered a major cardiac event.”  That was what Ty had said, that Steve’s heart had given out before.  “They managed to alter the machine to store the serum’s energy like a battery so that Stone did not have to be present for the procedure to continue.”

“Of course not,” Tony groused.  “Wouldn’t want destroying a man’s life to interfere with his busy social schedule.  Fucking asshole.”

“With the repeated beatings, repeated surgeries, old wounds that were not able to heal, and Stone stealing Captain Rogers’ biochemical energy regularly, eventually the serum was overcome and the implants remained in place.”  Tony closed his eyes.  He’d known all of this, of course.  The context and details behind the facts made it so much worse.  “I will continue to analyze the footage for novel information.  In the meantime, Doctors Banner and Miller are on their way.  Doctor Banner is asking me to inform you that he wishes to speak with you.  He claims to have good news.”

Immediately the chilly misery that felt like it was seeping into his bones was gone.  He looked to Steve’s lax face.  “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Tony stood, ripping the earbuds away and pocketing his phone anew.  Restless energy left him jittery, and he went about straightening up the room like a chicken with its head cut off.  He adjusted Steve’s blankets again, tucking him in tighter, and brushed his palm over Steve’s brow.  “Good news sounds good to me,” he commented.  He leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead.

A knock at the door heralded Bruce’s arrival, and he came in with a smile.  “Tony, great.  JARVIS got a hold of you.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else,” Tony said, unable to stifle a terse note from his tone when he saw Doctor Miller, the neurologist handling Steve’s case.  She was accomplished, hailing from Harvard, and she had enough degrees after her name to more than hold her own in this room with Bruce and Tony.  She was more than qualified, but right away Tony thought about what Clint had said, about SHIELD not finding a speck of Ty’s remains, and he couldn’t help his wariness.

“Of course not, Mr. Stark,” Miller said.  She smiled, but to Tony, it seemed fake.  Subconsciously he stepped closer to Steve’s bed.  “I wanted to inform you that things are taking a definite turn for the better.”

In the back of his head, he’d been hoping for that all day, ever since Bruce had told him that morning that Steve’s bloodwork and recent examinations had shown improvement.  Actually hearing it, though…  It was hard to restrain his hope.  “The scans were okay?”

“Better than okay,” Miller said with a smile.  “With the swelling and the inflammation down, we have a better view of things.  There is some scarring, particularly around his brain stem, but it’s not as bad as we originally thought.”

Tony swallowed his pounding heart.  “What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s difficult to know whether or not we just couldn’t see the extent of it before with any accuracy or if the serum’s healing him,” Bruce declared, “but I’d like to think it’s the serum.  Everything points to it.  The improved organ function, the fact that his body temperature has risen to a normal point and held steady without our assistance, the fact that the wounds from the implants are healing faster than expected…  It all suggests the serum is working as it should.  And I think he’s filling out a little again, gaining some weight.  He’s certainly running through the drugs we’re using to keep him sedated much faster now than he was a few days ago.” 

“Yes,” Miller agreed with a nod.  “His vital signs are getting stronger and stronger.  The induced coma has done exactly what we hoped it would: it’s given the serum a chance to start to restore him.”

“So…”  It hurt to believe.  Tony had been burned so many times since Steve had been taken from him.  “So this is it?  He’s out of the woods?”

The two doctors exchanged a look that Tony didn’t like.  “Not quite,” Miller said.  “Mr. Stark, I know Doctor Thayer mentioned this before when they first assessed Captain Rogers’ condition, but I just…”  She had the decency to pause and gather some tact.  “I need to remind you that we all must keep our expectations for his recovery within reason.  Yes, he’s physically improving, but even though we can’t see any obvious signs of brain damage, we won’t know for sure what his mental state will be until he wakes up.  You can be certain that even if there’s no lasting neurological impairment, psychologically he may not be who he was.”

Bruce looked pained, both at the idea and the fact the doctor was saying it.  “He’s still got a long road ahead of him, Tony,” he soothed.  “That’s all we’re saying.”

God, what the fuck?  “You don’t have to keep saying it,” Tony snapped.  “I’m not stupid.  I know he does.”

Bruce sighed, grasping Tony’s shoulder and rubbing it.  “I know you do.”

“And we will help him every step of the way,” Miller promised with a sweet smile that did basically nothing to console him.  He didn’t want her help or anyone’s help.  He wanted Steve back.  “But for now, we need to take things very slow.  This afternoon, we’re going to gradually reduce the anesthetic and try to bring him out of the coma.”

Tony’s heart leapt with hope despite the warning he’d just been given.  _They’re bringing him out of the coma._ “This afternoon?”

Bruce glanced at Miller.  “The team thinks it’s time.  It’s been more than three days since we induced the coma.  There’s enough improvement to satisfy us.”

“And he’ll wake up once you stop giving him the drugs?”  Tony knew the answer to that already, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Not exactly,” Miller explained.  “He likely won’t wake up all at once.  It could be a gradual process over many hours or even a couple days.  And, like I said, Mr. Stark, we don’t know the extent of the damage.”

“Are you saying he might not wake up at all?”  He couldn’t fathom that.  Sure, they’d all been afraid of the possibility, but he hadn’t let himself even think about it.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Bruce quickly declared.  “There’s nothing to suggest that it would.  But I wouldn’t expect him to open his eyes and smile at you and be all there, so to speak.  That’s not realistic.  This is going to–”

“–take time,” Tony finished glumly.

Bruce frowned and nodded.  “Frankly, with the way he’s burning through the meds, they’re not going to be enough to keep him sedated much more than another day or so, anyway.”

Miller nodded.  “Not likely.”

“So it’s time.  We need to be prepared.  He’s likely to be extremely weak.  Because of the serum, the muscle atrophy should reverse, but he’ll need therapy, Tony.  He may need a great deal of therapy and support, as Doctor Miller said.  Physically, cognitively, and emotionally.”

He knew all this.  That was why he was putting himself through hell watching those videos.  He wanted to be able to understand, to be able to provide that support.  “Would it be possible to get that breathing tube out before he wakes up?”

Bruce glanced at the ventilator.  “I’m not sure.  We’ll need to talk with the cardiac and pulmonary specialists overseeing his care.  Why?”

The image of Steve in that tank with that mask on him, with those tubes down his throat, flashed behind his eyelids when he closed them.  And Steve gagged.  With the exception of when he’d been alone in that cell, _every_ second of the videos Tony had seen showed Steve gagged.  Granted what he’d seen had been a drop in the bucket, a few days of a year Steve spent captive, but how likely was it that that he was kept like that more often than not?  With something in his mouth, unable to speak?  Silenced and dehumanized and reduced to a resource?  And Bruce already said he’d be too weak to move with the way his muscles had degenerated and withered.  “I just don’t want him to wake up thinking he’s back there.”

Bruce got it.  He stared sadly at Steve.  The marks around his wrists, the bruises and scabbed over skin, were fading faster than his other injuries, but they were still there.  “Yeah,” he agreed on a heavy, sad breath.  “There’s bound to be confusion.  Who knows what he’ll expect or what he’ll remember.”  Tony cringed.  Bruce turned to him and grasped his shoulder again.  Some bitter part of Tony always wanted to tell Bruce these comforting touches felt forced, but that was just mean and cynical.  “He’s got you here.  He’s got all of us.  That’ll mean everything.  Trust me.”

 _I’ll be here._   Tony reached down and took Steve’s hand again.  He’d have to hope that would be enough.

* * *

As promised, they started decreasing the anesthetic that afternoon.  Steve didn’t wake up, of course.  It wasn’t a magic switch, just like Miller and Bruce had said it wasn’t, and Tony _knew_ that, just like _he_ said he did, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping.  Every second Steve spent sleeping after the drugs were stopped was torture.  Tony stayed right in the room, right in the chair beside the bed, and watched him.  No more videos.  No more investigating or trying to understand.  No more distractions.  He stayed and watched and waited.

The cardiologist and pulmonary specialists came by just as Doctor Miller and the anesthesiologist began dialing back the drugs keeping Steve comatose.  Much to Tony’s chagrin, the entire group of them was concerned about extubating him.  Thankfully, the test results were good enough and Bruce went to bat for the idea, so they agreed without Tony having to say anything.  Everyone in the room watched in fear while the nurses and the intensivist removed the tube, wondering if Steve would take over the task of breathing on his own.

He did.  It felt like a tremendous victory, even if Steve’s first breaths were shaky and wheezy.  The doctors hovered and mumbled comments, stethoscopes pressed to Steve’s chest.  Even that looked better, the aged wounds even more healed, the skin and muscles around Steve’s ribcage slowly starting to fill out again.  Tony stared at the way Steve was breathing, slowly and evenly, his chest rising and falling with it, with _his_ muscles moving instead of some machine forcing air into his body.  He could barely stop himself from crying in relief.

Bruce and the other doctors hovered, trying to rouse Steve, calling his name and patting his hand and coaxing him to awareness.  Steve didn’t open his eyes.  They all left, pleased with the breathing at least and bidding the Avengers to be patient.

Tony didn’t know if he had any patience left, to be honest, but he settled in all the same.  He sat in the chair beside the bed and went back to watching intently.  He watched Steve’s face for any sign of awareness, watched his body for any hint of conscious movement, watched the monitors for any flicker of a change in Steve’s vital signs.  There was nothing.  He held Steve’s hand, squeezed his fingers, caressed his knuckles.  He whispered the same stuff over and over again.  “Come on, Steve.  It’s time to wake up now.  I’m here waiting for you.  Okay?  Open your eyes, baby.  It’s okay.”  It was all useless nonsense.  Steve probably couldn’t hear him, and nothing Tony could say or do would make him wake up any sooner.  But he kept saying it.  “It’s Tony, love.  Can you open your eyes?  Come back to me.  Come back.”

Waiting was so miserable.

The afternoon went on and on, and endless parade of slow, meaningless minutes.  People were coming and going again.  Doctors and nurses.  The rest of the team.  Clint and Bruce and Thor.  They were hovering in the room, out of the room, useless and anxious but trying to be calm and supportive.  Natasha was there most of all.  “Tony, you don’t have to spend the night in that chair,” she said as the evening descended.  She was dressed in black pants and a teal blouse.  Her mask of equanimity seemed better in place now than it had been of late, but she was still solemn and afraid.  “We’re all here.  We can stay with him, and we’ll come get you the second he–”

“I can’t leave him,” Tony said quietly, sweeping his thumbs over Steve’s hand again and again.  “I have to be here when he wakes up.  He’s _going_ to wake up.  Soon.  I can’t risk not being here.”

“Bruce said it could be a while yet.  Maybe not even until tomorrow or the day after.”

Tony knew that.  It had been a couple hours since they’d taken the breathing tube out, a little more than that since they’d stopped the anesthesia entirely.  Bruce was always quick to remind everyone at every juncture that this could take time.  Those assurances weren’t doing much at all to appease anyone, let alone Tony.

But there was no choice in the matter.  Considering he’d been waiting days since he’d found Steve – no, _a year_ since Steve had been taken from him – to see Steve open his eyes and hear his voice and feel his touch again, these last few hours shouldn’t be so painful.  They were, though.  They were torture, excruciating, and all Tony could think was he wanted Steve to wake up so Steve could know he was safe, that Tony was there, that Tony would take him home.

Natasha sensed his pained impatience.  She dropped her hand to his shoulder, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning into her side.  “It’s going to be okay,” she promised.  Tony didn’t know to whom she was swearing that.  He supposed it didn’t matter because it was nice to hear, even if it was unusual coming from her.  “We’re almost there, and then it’s going to be fine.”

The night wore on.  Tony watched and paced and sighed and sat and stood and paced again.  For once, his mind was utterly blank.  Try as he did, he couldn’t manage to think about anything.  No storm of ideas or things that needed figuring out.  No obsession.  All he could do was focus on Steve.  The others brought food and talked in soft words and came and went and came and went.  He never did.

_It’s going to be fine._

At some point in time, his exhausted body, tortured and worn down by the events of the last days, betrayed him.  He ended up in the chair sleeping, that sort of light doze where he could hear what was going on around him but it didn’t register much.  He felt a blanket being draped over him, felt gentle hands on his face, stroking his hair.  He heard Pepper’s voice, Natasha’s in response.  They were worried about him.  He heard Clint complaining about how awful this was and Thor wondering in a pained tone about how much longer.  He heard Bruce offering useless facts.  Heard himself breathing.

Heard Steve breathing.  Like so many nights they’d shared before, with Tony’s head on Steve’s chest, with Steve wrapped around him from behind, with Steve collapsed between his legs or sprawled on his belly with Tony draped over his back.  Days and days, nights and nights, _years_ of listening to Steve breathe, of feeling his muscles shift rhythmically each time he inhaled and then relaxing when he exhaled.  He knew what it sounded like, what it felt like.  Knew it better than he knew anything.  Memorized it.  Steve breathing, slow and steady.

Until Steve wasn’t.

Tony heard a small hitch, a gap in the rhythm, and it was like a lightning bolt striking him.  He flung himself up, throwing the blanket off and rapidly blinking away the ghosts of sleep.  Pale light was leaking into the ICU room.  It was dawn.  Steve was still in the bed, still breathing nice and slow, so maybe Tony had imagined that minute change.  Wishful thinking, maybe.  A dream he’d been having.

Maybe.  He stared.  “Steve?”

That got the attention of the other people in the room.  Natasha jolted from her chair on the other side of the bed, dropping her blanket and staggering closer.  “Tony?” she asked softly, glancing at Tony.  “What is it?”

Clint and Thor rushed over from the chairs by the window, sleepy and bedraggled.  “Is something happening?” Thor wondered breathlessly, clearly hopeful.

Tony took Steve’s hand from the hospital bed and squeezed it firmly.  “Steve, can you hear me?”

There was no response, at least not at first.  Then that tiny change to Steve’s even breathing came again, a soft gasp, and Steve’s fingers twitched in Tony’s hand.  The monotonous beeping of the monitors, so constant for _days,_ changed to be faster and higher-pitched as Steve’s pulse rose and his brain activity abruptly increased.  Joy exploded through Tony like fireworks, bright and fiery and colorfully fizzy.  “He’s waking up,” he gasped, grinning like a madman as he glanced at Natasha and the others.  “He’s waking up!”

There was a rush of activity around the bed.  Thor ran to get Bruce and the rest of the doctors.  Clint stood behind Natasha, his hand on Steve’s leg through the blankets.  “Steve, we’re here,” Natasha said, smiling so wide it looked almost painful.  Her eyes were wet.  “Can you hear me?  It’s Nat.”

Tony pressed closer, not letting go of Steve’s hand for a second.  His fingers were twitching more now, spastically shaking, so Tony gripped tighter.  “Steve, it’s Tony.  It’s Tony.  Come on.  Open your eyes.”

It seemed impossible, but Steve’s eyelids fluttered.  Tony struggled to hold back a sob.  He laid his free hand on Steve’s forehead, smoothing his brow and the prickly fringe of his hair, rubbing his temple gently with his thumb.  “That’s it.  Come on, baby.  I’m right here.  I’m here.  Please open your eyes and see me.”

It seemed _impossible_ , but Steve’s eyes opened to reveal cloudy blue.  Vaguely Tony heard Natasha gasp something in Russian.  She backed away a little, pushing Clint with her to give the two of them space.  Tony leaned in even more, a huge smile breaking out over his face.  “Hey, sweetheart.  Sweetheart, I’m here.  You’re safe.  Don’t be afraid.  I’m here now, and it’s over, and you’re safe.”

Steve blinked.  His face was lax, bruised lips closed, his breathing thin and slow through his nose.  His eyes were _empty._   Blank.  There was nothing there, no recognition, no understanding.  Tony licked his lips, biting the fleshy inside of his cheek in desperation until it hurt.  Then he shook free of his fear.  “Steve, it’s Tony.  It’s Tony, love.  I came.  I found you.  I’m here.”

Something flashed through Steve’s gaze as he finally focused on Tony, focused and held onto it.  It was a flash of fear, of pain.  “Hey,” Tony said, smiling.  “You got it now.  I’m right here, Steve.  Right here.”  He squeezed Steve’s hand even tighter.  “It’s okay.  You’re going to be okay.”  Tony rubbed his cheek, but Steve…  He winced.  It was hardly anything, but it was there.  He winced, and he shook his head in a tiny, almost reflexive jerk, and his hand twitched harder, tried to move.  Then his eyes closed again, and he lost consciousness.

The whole thing had lasted hardly more than a minute.  The doctors were rushing in, but they were already too late.  That was okay, though.  They were talking about how this was good, profound improvement, actually, and that Steve had taken the first few steps.  Over the next couple days, if everything continued to get better, he would come back to them more, stay awake longer and longer.  This was fantastic.

Wasn’t it?

Tony was reeling as the medical staff gently pushed him away so they could get to the patient.  He was forced to let go of Steve’s hand, forced to step back, forced to the end of the bed.  The rest of the team was hugging and smiling.  Natasha was there, pulling him close.  “He woke up!” she gasped, so relieved.  “He saw you!  It’s alright now!”

Tony was too lost and horrified to argue.  Steve _had_ seen him, but…  _God._   Tony couldn’t be sure, but it felt like Steve had tried to push him away.  Steve had no strength, but those little twitches and that tiny shake of his head…  It was just like when he’d tried to push away the doctors down in the lab.  Just like what he’d done when Ty had kidnapped him to begin with.  Just like he probably had done countless times, when he’d been helpless but fighting to keep the people in that nightmare from hurting him.  From stealing his life and damaging his body.  _It’s to be expected.  He’s confused.  He’s just confused!_

Or he blamed Tony.  _God._   Or he was afraid.  God knew he deserved to be afraid.  Or it was just too overwhelming, waking up to this reality that was so disjointed from the one he’d left.  Or he was in pain.  Or…

There were a million reasons, a million possible explanations.  Expectations had to be kept within reason.  Tony knew that.  There was no reason to jump to any conclusions.

But Tony couldn’t stop himself.  There was one thought that was sticking in his mind, stabbing and spreading poison.  He choked on a sob into Natasha’s shoulder.  _Maybe he doesn’t think I came.  He doesn’t believe I came for him.  He gave up._

_Maybe…  Maybe Ty really did break him._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I need to stick a particular cautionary note on this. There's a section where something Steve endured during his captivity gets compared to rape. Let me be clear that Steve was not raped in this story, but the emotional impact of what he endured is very similar and there will be some lingering questions about it coming up that bother Tony.
> 
> Alright, onward :-). Thanks for reading!

“Tony, you need to give it time.”

Tony wanted to scream, but instead he just sighed in utter exhaustion.  “I’m trying, Pep.  I am.” 

Pepper watched him with sympathetic eyes.  They sat in the hospital cafeteria.  It was the middle of the afternoon, well past the lunch hour but not quite dinner time, so the place was almost empty.  That was alright with Tony, because he didn’t care to see anyone or be seen.  He felt like shit and he was pretty sure he didn’t look much better.  He was wearing the same jeans he’d been wearing for a couple days now.  His shirt was fresh and clean, but only because Pepper had demanded he change before bringing him down here to eat.  He’d showered at her insistence, so that was something.  Showered and brushed his teeth.  His hair was a mess from raking his hands through it, though, and he hadn’t put any gel in it, and he needed to shave.  He rubbed his face now and felt the prickle of stubble along his jaw where it shouldn’t be.  His goatee was turning into a beard.  It was annoying.

Pepper reached across the table, grabbing his hand and pulling it from his face to clasp it between her own.  “What’s the matter?”

It was becoming increasingly impossible to keep his temper in check.  He knew he needed to.  More than ever, he needed to.  And he needed to be what she said: patient.  Patient and understanding.  Calm and certain.

But it was fucking difficult to do that when your newly conscious husband wouldn’t acknowledge you _at all._

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking in a mixture of fatigue and pure, unadulterated misery.  Pepper’s sad smile slipped into an even sadder frown.  “Yeah, I know, right?”  He gave a bitter laugh.  “Me admitting that.  The world’s fucking ending.”

“Tony–”

“He won’t talk to me.  He won’t answer me when I talk to him.  He won’t even look at me.”  Fuck, that hurt.  It hurt so deeply, like a spike of ice in his chest that was being twisted to gouge deeper and deeper.  Ever since Steve had woken up the day before, Tony’s world had descended even more into hell.  As awful as it had been to wait for Steve’s condition to improve enough for the doctors to release him from the induced coma, _this_ was a million times worse.  This state Steve was in now.  At first Tony hadn’t been sure at all what that state was.  Steve spent hours sleeping yesterday, rousing off and on but never for long and never completely.  Tony stayed at his side, ardent and steadfast on the exterior and wilting inside every time Steve woke up but showed no sign of recognition.  He didn’t speak, didn’t react much to Tony holding his hand and hovering over him with a smile, didn’t seem to hear Tony’s soft promises that everything was okay and he was safe and they were together.  Never once after that first time he woke up did he even meet Tony’s gaze.

When yesterday evening had finally rolled around, bringing the end of a truly endless day, Steve had become more aware.  He’d come to and stayed conscious long enough for the neurologist to perform an assessment.  Well, that was something of an overstatement.  An assessment implied results, but all the questions the doctors had asked Steve had gone completely unanswered. _“Can you tell us where you are?  Can you tell us your name?  Do you know who this is?”_   That one had particularly smarted since Miller had been pointing to Tony at the time.  Again Steve hadn’t even looked at him.

Bruce had tried, too, wondering if Steve’s familiarity with him would produce better results.  _“Do you know who I am?  What’s the last thing you remember?  Can you grip my hands?  Follow my finger?  Are you in pain?”_ Steve hadn’t responded or complied or even acknowledged that anyone was talking to him.  He’d simply stared through them all, eyes vacant and face lax.   Tony knew he shouldn’t be comforted as much as he was by the fact that Steve had pretty soundly ignored Bruce, too.  And the other doctors.  And the nurses.  And the rest of the team.  He was ignoring _everyone._

Of course, everyone else wasn’t in love with him.  Everyone else wasn’t married to him.  So, yeah, it hurt like crazy.  It fucking terrified him.  And Tony had to be reasonable; Steve wasn’t necessarily ignoring them.  It was impossible to tell what was going on with him right now, if he was aware at all of where he was or who was with him or even who he was.  That was the point of the assessment to begin with.   Steve’s capacity to interact with those around him and his environment appeared crippled, though whether that stemmed from neurological or psychological damage was difficult to determine.  Both seemed possible.

Eventually, though, the doctors had cut their losses trying to figure that out and tested his nerves and reflexes as much as possible.  That had yielded generally good results, although the muscle weakness was fairly debilitating.  The team of medical and psychological professionals had discussed the situation at length afterward, and all that had to show for it, all they presented to Tony, was an agreement amongst them that it was too soon to come to any conclusions.  Further testing and more time was really required.  _Patience._

Tony didn’t have any.  Last night, after the doctors had given up, after _everyone_ had given up, he had sat at Steve’s side for hours.  He didn’t dare touch him now, not with Steve maybe unable to recognize his intentions and definitely unable to stop him if he didn’t want it.  All the unwanted hands on him for months down in that lab, the violation of his body he’d endured because of those scientists and doctors…  Because of Ty.  Christ, just thinking about it had made Tony feel sick, had made the room spin, but he’d donned a smile and sat next to Steve’s bed as nonthreateningly as possible (he’d never imagined he’d have to worry about _being_ threatening to the man he loved and who loved him, but there he was).  At first the silence had been devastating, and Tony hadn’t been able to stand it, so he did what he always did when shit hurt and he couldn’t handle it.  He talked.  He’d kept it light, casual, forcing himself to be strong and confident when he felt the opposite.  He steered clear of anything related to the last year of hell, focusing on innocuous information.  The Yankees’ crappy baseball season, for instance, and how much Steve should appreciate that they’d choked in the playoffs a couple months ago.  The music and movies that had been released since Steve’s abduction.  Happy and Pepper’s wedding.  The Greenlight Initiative and how well that had gone, though not as well as it could have with Steve there.

And saying that had dissolved Tony’s strength and his resolution to keep his distance.  He’d knelt at Steve’s bedside, grasping Steve’s arm like he needed the anchor, buried his face into the mattress.  He’d wept, desperation pouring out of him, pain and grief and frustration, _everything_ he’d been keeping inside since he’d realized Ty had taken Steve from him.  No, it went back far before that, for the whole year Steve had been gone.  The things he’d _never_ put to rest.  And he’d begged.  _Begged.  “Steve, please.  Please look at me.  I’m right here, baby.  Don’t you see me?  Don’t you hear me?  Can’t you feel me?”_   He’d grasped Steve tighter, weaving their hands together, Tony’s left clutching at Steve’s right, Tony’s right rubbing up and down Steve’s thin arm.He’d rubbed and rubbed.  _“I found you.  I got you out of there.  You don’t need to be afraid now, Steve.  I swear to you.  He can’t touch you anymore.  He can’t hurt you!”_   He’d apologized.  _“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  It’s my fault.  Ty was trying to hurt me, and he hurt you to do it.  He’s a fucking bastard, and he’s got a vendetta against me, and you…  He made you pay the price.  I’m sorry!”_ He’d gone on and on.  _“I know you’re scared and confused.  I know you are.  But I’m here to help you.  We’re all here to help you.  You just have to let me in, baby.  Please.  I…  I heard you screaming for me.  I dreamt it.  I knew it in my heart, that you needed me.  I’m here now.  Just trust me.  Please.”_

He’d utterly fallen apart. _“I can’t stand this.  I can’t.  I need you to look at me.  I need you to see me.  I need you to talk to me, baby, please!  Say my name.  Please…  Please…”_

There’d been no answer to any of it.  Steve had just blinked, eyes half-lidded and wet, and turned his head away just enough that Tony’s heart had broken all over again.

And that led to here and now, to today where he’d stayed at Steve’s side all morning and early afternoon as Steve withdrew further into himself.  Steve had spent hours either sleeping or staring at the ceiling or at the walls or at nothing, like he was stuck in some sort of mute, empty stupor.  Like he’d never woken up at all, not really.  Like Tony hadn’t saved him.  It was more than disconcerting, utterly disturbing in fact, to see Steve like this, Steve who was so strong and firm, so full of life and light.  It had taken Tony a while when the Avengers first formed to draw that side out of him from underneath the solemn seriousness.  The side that smiled and threw his head back as he laughed with his whole body and joked with a sassy side that would surprise just about anyone.  Having Steve like this was among the most painful things Tony had endured in his life.  He hadn’t talked to Steve since last night, hadn’t even tried.  It wasn’t out of bitterness, even though the whole thing was killing him inside.  It was because he didn’t know what else he could say, what else he could do.  He didn’t know how to fix this.  Being there at Steve’s side wasn’t nearly enough.

Being here with Pepper wasn’t helping him figure it out.  He swallowed down the sob still itching in his throat, always fucking itching in his throat.  “It’s like…  He’s just gone.  We got his body back, but everything else…”  He could hardly bear to say it.  “Everything else is dead.”

Pepper shook her head.  “No, Tony.  You can’t think that.  You can’t _let_ yourself think that.”  Tony grimaced, trying not to cry.  “It’s only been two days.  I…  I don’t know the half of what Steve’s gone through at the hands of that madman.  I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on.”  Tony looked up to where he’d been staring blankly at the table and their two cooling cups of coffee.  Pepper’s eyes were without accusation, but they were knowing and worried.  He could never hide anything from her.  She sighed.  “He spent all that time in cryostasis and months before that with…”  She couldn’t finish, biting her lip before her voice broke.  She wiped at her eyes.  “You don’t need me crying.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“Point is, he spent a year away from us, a year being torn down.  It’ll take more than a couple of days to bring him back.  Are the doctors…  Do they think anything’s wrong with…”  She faltered, swallowed, and tried again.  “Do they think…”

Tony spared her.  “That he has brain damage?”  Fearfully she nodded.  In a way, that awful idea was almost less painful than the thought that Steve himself was so traumatized and scarred that he _wasn’t_ himself anymore.  It was fucking terrible to think that, but Tony did.  He was thinking a lot of terrible things.  “It’s possible, but damage serious enough to cause this sort of behavior change should be more visible on the scans than what they’re seeing.  Plus the serum will likely heal it.”

Pepper was relieved.  “So he just needs time.  Like I said.”

Like everyone was saying.  Thor and Bruce and Natasha and Clint.  All the doctors.  Even the voice of reason in Tony’s head.  Tony sipped his coffee.  He’d been living off it for days, ever since he’d paced the waiting room after they’d airlifted Steve here, and every time it somehow came as a surprise how much it tasted like shit.  Angry, he set the Styrofoam cup down, and the coffee sloshed over the side and burned his fingers.  “Fucking bullshit,” he snapped, and all the sudden he was about to cry again.  Like that scalding hint of pain was too much to bear.

Pepper handed him a napkin, and he fucking floundered like a moron for a second, unable to manage the simple act of cleaning up what he’d spilled.  His hands were shaking like crazy.  “Tony, easy.”  Her cool, slender fingers stilled his, and she took another napkin, leaning up over the table a bit to reach the spill.  She wiped it away.  “Take it easy.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted in a harried voice.  Ever since Steve woke up, his faith in himself had been wavering.  All his bravado, if it had ever been warranted before, felt like a house of cards now, one that was quivering every time there was the slightest bit of a breeze to upset it.  “Christ, I’m so scared.  I’m a fucking coward.  A goddamn hypocrite.  I kept telling everyone I could handle this, that it didn’t matter if it would take time.  Who the fuck am I kidding?”

Pepper shook her head.  “Tony…”

“I can’t even handle a couple days.”  He scrubbed his hands down his face in a last, pathetic attempt to hide how much he was crumbling.  “Some husband I am, huh?  I can’t figure out how to help him.  And I couldn’t protect him, couldn’t find him for a year, couldn’t save him.  Ty took him in the first place just to get back at me.”  He sniffled.  “And…  And I gave up.  I stopped looking.  I _gave up_ on him, and now I can’t even stand the thought that he might have given up on me.  After a fucking _year,_ Pepper.”  He shook his head.  “He had every right to.”

“Steve would be the first one to tell you he doesn’t need you to protect him,” Pepper reminded gently, “and that this isn’t your fault.”

Tony stared at her, eyes burning.  Steve _had_ told him that.  It felt like eons ago, that day before Ty had kidnapped him when Tony had been stupidly worried about getting old and dying (oh, the fucking _irony_ ).  Steve had told Tony that this was their jobs and their lives were dangerous ones.  It hadn’t been much of a comfort then, and it wasn’t now, either, now when he knew just how _personal_ this was.  Steve dying in battle was one thing.  Awful and painful, yes, but something that was very much tied to being a soldier and an Avenger.  Steve being kidnapped and tortured and used as a weapon in a war against Tony?  Flaunted like a trophy?  Like a victory?  That was something else.

“You don’t know what he’s thinking or what he’s feeling,” Pepper said.  “As much of a shock this was to his body, it’s just as much of one to his mind, maybe even more so because the serum can’t just heal that.  It’s going to take time.  Time and courage and strength.  And love.”  She nodded encouragingly.  “You have all those things, Tony.  You both do.  It isn’t going to be easy, but you’re not alone.  And if you want my opinion?”  She gave a gentle grin.  “I don’t think there’s anything under the sun that could make Steve give up, let alone give up on you.”

It shouldn’t be comforting, because those were just more words in a deep sea of useless talk.  He’d been drowning in that ocean for what felt like forever.  Still, what Pepper said gave him hope, like a beacon cutting through the darkness.  He smiled back, weakly with his lips trembling, and wiped more at his eyes.  “Thanks.  Any word from Happy about how things are going back in New York?”

Now Pepper was more displeased.  “He and JARVIS are working on the security upgrades you requested.  JARVIS is altering the Tower’s internal scanners to check for the EM signature from the Chameleon suit.  Doctor Galloway’s assisting him remotely.  They’ll be done by the end of the week.”

“We need it faster than that.”

She frowned worriedly.  “Tony, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t want Steve here.”  Just like that, the modicum of peace he was feeling vanished.  Frankly, he was sick of having to justify this.  Why was it so hard for everyone to understand why he needed to take Steve home?  Why the fuck couldn’t anyone _ever_ listen to him?  If someone had…  Christ, if someone had fucking believed him about Steve not being dead, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  _I would have found him sooner.  Ty wouldn’t have had the chance to hurt him so bad.  I would have found him sooner!_ He shook his head to his own thoughts.  It wasn’t worth bringing up.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

_Bullshit._

“He can recover just as well back east,” Tony said.

“He needs…  I don’t know why I am arguing with you,” Pepper replied wearily.

“I don’t know why either,” Tony said, trying to keep his tone light even though he was frustrated to hell and back and battling his temper again.  “Did you get what we need out there?”

Pepper frowned even harder, clenching her jaw in disapproval.  “You mean vetting an entire hospital’s worth of doctors and therapists and bullying them all into signing NDAs and essentially living at the Tower until you deem they’re free to go on pain of financial and legal ruin should they breathe a word of what happened to anyone?”

“You make it sound like slavery.  We’re paying them.”

She rolled her eyes but sighed in submission.  “I know I’m exaggerating, but don’t you think Steve would be better off here?  They already have expert psychiatrists and therapists, plus the medical staff is immediately available if something were to go wrong.  Plus SHIELD is here.  It’s SHIELD’s hospital.”

“Pepper, he spent _a year_ tied to a fucking examination table having his life sucked out of his body or trapped in a little cell or frozen in a fucking tank.  _A year_ surrounded by people he didn’t know in a place that’d put the most nightmarish, inhumane lab Hollywood can come up with to shame.  What he endured went way beyond human experimentation.  He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move.  Couldn’t even talk.  He needs to be home.  He needs to know he’s safe.  _I_ need to know he’s safe.”

“You do know what happened,” Pepper said softly, out of the blue.  “Don’t you.”

Tony looked away.  “Of course I know.  Bruce has an entire library of those bastards’ research notes.”  He wasn’t going to tell her about the videos, of course.  Not in a million years.  Since the doctors had awoken Steve from the coma, Tony hadn’t watched another second of the footage.  It was always in the back of his mind, though, buzzing around and driving him crazy.  JARVIS had told him things, described how Steve’s days had mostly consisted of the cell, examinations, surgery, and the machine, usually in that order.  Sometimes the awful schedule was interrupted by an escape attempt, which usually ended up in a beating that would leave Steve even more damaged.  Often times he was left bound and gagged and unconscious in his cell as punishment.  No one spoke to him other than to insult him or deride him.  Ty never acknowledged him at all.  Steve’s life for months, day in and day out, was nothing but pain and fear and isolation.

And that was just what JARVIS had found so far.  The AI was still examining the footage in conjunction with the research records from the data files.  Maybe Tony should look further.  Maybe there was something specific in the videos that could help or explain why Steve had withdrawn so completely.

Like Steve needed a reason _more_ than the hell he’d lived.  “I know enough,” he finally said on a heavy breath.  “And I know I want him back home no matter what it takes.  It’s his home, too.  His bed and his room and his stuff.  His family.  It might help him if he’s some place familiar, some place he recognizes and knows.  I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

Pepper shook her head as she tried to validate her objections.  “It’s not.  I just…  I’m worried about him.”

“Who’s not?” Tony muttered, rubbing his aching forehead.

“And I’m worried about you.  I don’t want…  I don’t want you to think you can or should take this on by yourself.  Steve doesn’t like doctors.  You don’t like doctors.  The two of you prefer to lick your wounds in private.”

“That’s lewd and highly inappropriate.”

Pepper sighed, long-suffering.  “You know what I mean.  Steve’s always had a hard time accepting help.  So do you.  You’d both rather ignore things and soldier on, and I don’t know that that’s the best approach here.”  Irritation prickled through Tony, and she could see it.  She softened her expression and lowered her voice more.  “I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing.  I just don’t want you to rush this.  I don’t want you to bring Steve home before you’re ready to have him there and before he’s ready to be there.  And I don’t want you back east obsessing over the fact that you don’t know for sure that Stone’s dead.”

Tony flinched.  “I’m not that obvious.”

“Seriously, Tony?  We just got done talking about _security_ upgrades to a Tower that’s already among the most secure building in the world.  Upgrades, by the way, to stop one specific person and scenario more than anything else.”  Pepper gave him a weak, wan look.  “Just because they couldn’t find his remains doesn’t mean he’s still alive.”

“Yeah, well, in case you missed it, making an assumption without proof is what landed Steve in the hands of a sadistic, vindictive asshole for a year, so how about we not make it again.”

“It’s not going to help Steve if you’re driving yourself crazy about it.  Even if Stone’s out there, even if he has that stealth suit, there’s no way he’s getting past you.  It’s not possible for him to get to Steve now, definitely not here or even at home.  He’s got SHIELD and the Avengers and the most technologically advanced AI in the world standing in his way.”

Tony’s phone beeped in his pocket.  He stood abruptly, nearly banging his knee on the table.  “Just make sure of that,” he ordered tersely, pulling the device out, “because we’re taking Steve home the second he’s stable enough to travel.  I mean it.  See if Rhodey can get us an Air Force escort.”

Pepper grimaced.  “Tony–”

He didn’t answer her, tapping the screen of his phone instead and bringing it to his ear as he turned away.  “What?”

It was Natasha calling.  He’d left Natasha with Steve, so if she was calling, something was wrong.  “Tony, we need you back here.”

Tony’s heart started pounding.  One would think after all the pain and upset lately, more wouldn’t have such an effect on him.  “What’s happening?”

“Steve’s really upset,” Natasha said.  Her voice sounded harried, and that only made Tony’s pulse race even faster.  “Remember Bruce mentioning they were going to start him on a clear liquids diet today?  He’s…  He’s not taking to it well.”

“Is he okay?”

“Just hurry.”

He hung up and started to run through the hallways outside the cafeteria toward the elevator.  It took what felt like forever to get back up to Steve’s room.  Now that his condition was no longer critical, he’d been moved from the ICU and resituated in a private, more regular area of the hospital.  While that was undeniably a good sign, it was a touch disconcerting.  Fury had the STRIKE Team all over the hallways of this section, and Stark Industries security was there, too, and butting heads with them.  Between the two forces there were at least a dozen armed guards roaming the halls and stationed at every door.  The problem was, though, there also seemed to be even more people going in and out, more traffic and activity in general, and it was heightening Tony’s paranoia significantly.

Like the crowd of folks outside Steve’s hospital room now.  The second Tony saw it, his panic ratcheted up.  He didn’t recognize any of them.  Most were hospital staff, nurses or doctors, but a few more were dressed in professional attire with badges.  Tony eyed them with utter venom in his glare as he pushed his way through.  “You all need to leave,” he snapped once he had his hand on the doorknob, wondering what happened to his security people that this mob gotten through.

“Mr. Stark, hi,” said one of the men.  He was about Tony’s age, nice-looking with dark brown hair, gray eyes, and a handsome face.  There was a SHIELD ID badge clipped to this black suit jacket.  He extended his hand.  “I’m Mark Madson.  I’m the clinical psychologist assigned to work on Captain Rogers’ case.  I work for SHIELD.”

“That’s nice,” Tony said, ignoring his hand to turn the knob and open the door.

“It’s my job to coordinate Captain Rogers’ care,” Madson says, undaunted.  “This is an extremely complex situation, and we want to make sure he receives the best possible–”

“Can this wait?” Tony asked shortly.  “I need to be in there.”

It seemed like Madson was going to give him a hard time, but thankfully he didn’t.  He offered a sad, understanding smile.  “Of course.  We can talk later.”  Tony couldn’t help but appreciate that, that someone _understood_ for one damn second that he needed to do this his way.  He nodded, and Madson quietly directed the group of people congregating outside Steve’s room away.

Inside, there were a couple more nurses.  Natasha and Thor stood to the side, and they both looked troubled.  Steve was in the bed where Tony had left him, and Tony could tell he was agitated.  His eyes were closed, but his face was pasty and bathed in sweat and his body looked rigid through the hospital gown and under the blankets.  “What’s the matter?” he demanded, unable to keep a defensive note from his voice.  He went right to Steve’s side, kicking himself for ever leaving.

One of the nurses, an older lady, sighed and looked up at him.  “He won’t eat or drink.”

Tony saw she had a large cup of ice water with a straw, a smaller cup of something that looked like apple juice, a little carton of red Jell-O, and a small tub of apple sauce that had a plastic spoon sticking in it.  “I thought Bruce said clear liquids.”

Natasha folded her arms over her chest.  She was glaring at the older nurse, which of course made Tony’s hackles rise, too.  He wondered what the hell had happened.  “One of the doctors thought a soft diet would be okay and maybe more palatable.  The team agreed.”

The team was holding less and less esteem in Tony’s book.  “What did Bruce say?”

Thor was stiff beside Natasha.  “He believed it would not be unreasonable to try, so long as the process was slow and cautious.”

“He needs to eat,” the nurse vehemently declared.  “IV nutrition is not going to be enough to supply him with what he needs.”  Tony didn’t know her name, didn’t know her at all in fact, but he could immediately see why Natasha looked so pissed off.  Her entire attitude screamed impatience.  “His metabolism burns through calories so fast he’s going to put himself right back into critical condition if he doesn’t eat.”

That was undeniably true, but her tone wasn’t doing her any favors, and it wasn’t at all comforting to Steve.  Steve, who looked fucking _terrified_ all over again.  There were a couple spills on his hospital gown over his chest that someone had tried to mop up, like the nurse has attempted to spoon feed him and he’d refused to open his mouth and maybe even struggled.  Clearly that was exactly what had happened, because she tried again right now, bringing a spoon full of applesauce close to Steve’s face.  Steve recoiled, flinched, _whimpered_ , and scrambled in the bed.  He was still so weak that those little movements were hardly anything at all, but to Tony it was clear what he wanted.  “Don’t,” Tony warned.

The nurse sighed.  “Mr. Stark, he’s been conscious for two days at this point and off the feeding tube since last night.  We need to get him on the road to recovery.”

“Not like this you don’t.  Leave it.”

Irately she regarded him, and Tony made a mental note to ride Fury’s ass later until the SHIELD Director fired her.  She was treating Steve like an intransigent toddler, which was totally inappropriate.  She did do as he asked, though, setting the cup of applesauce and the spoon back on the little table beside her before standing.  “You can try, but if you can’t get him to cooperate, we’ll need to get Doctor Thayer’s opinion on what to do next.”  She said that like a threat.

Tony scowled back.  “Yeah, whatever.  Get out.”

For a second more, she held her ground.  Then she realized she was standing against a master assassin, a Norse demigod, and Iron Man, and all three of them would sooner physically toss her from the room than let her so much as say one more insensitive comment.  She cut her losses, and both the nurses left.

As the door shut behind them, Tony abandoned all sense of doubt and fear and cupped Steve’s face.  Steve flinched, eyes still squeezed shut.  Tony could feel him shaking.  “Steve, it’s alright.  It’s alright.”

Steve shook his head minutely.  At least, Tony thought he did.  It was hard to tell given how hard he was trembling.  Maybe it was a sign of _something_ , though, that Steve was aware and cognizant enough to express some measure of agency.  He certainly was in refusing to eat.  Tony threw caution to the wind, breaking free of the same damn fear that had been chaining him the past day, and pulled Steve close to him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight against his chest.  “It’s alright,” he murmured again, kissing Steve’s head.  His short hair was prickly, and Tony could see the shaved and scabbed over areas where the surgical team had removed the implants.  He didn’t let himself linger on that.  “It’s alright.  I’m here.  I’m here…”

Steve didn’t respond, didn’t relax into his embrace or even attempt to return it.  He seemed on the edge of hyperventilation, of utter hysteria, pale and sweaty and breathing in shallow pants.  “What’s the matter?” Tony asked softly, keeping his voice quiet, even, and nonthreatening.  “Does something hurt?”

“I couldn’t throw them out,” Natasha declared.  The look on her face screamed of cold rage.  There was murder in Black Widow’s eyes.  “That nurse kept pushing, and I could tell he was scared, but she wouldn’t listen to me.  Said I didn’t have the authority.”  She practically spat that.

That sounded like utter bullshit, but despite that, Tony didn’t understand what had gotten Steve so upset.  “Scared of what?  Of her?”

Grimly Thor shook his head.  “She was thoughtless and callous, but I do not believe she was what frightened him.”

That left only one explanation.  Tony looked at the tray of food left behind, idle on the table, and then down at Steve in his arms.  “You don’t want to eat?”  There was no response.  “Do you feel okay?  You have to eat.  You need to get better.”

Steve stiffened more.  His hands came up, barely a shudder of movement against Tony’s side, and he seemed to stop himself before he could touch him.  Tony’s heart quaked, and he held Steve tighter, like he could force comfort into him through contact.  God, he would.  He’d do anything to show Steve he was safe.

But holding him like this was having the opposite effect, and a thousand awful images – _hands forcing Steve down binding his arms dragging him hitting him keeping him still_ – stampeded through Tony’s head.  He didn’t know if he should hug Steve tighter or get away from him.  “Calm down,” he pled.  “Please.  You’re alright.  It’s fine.  Calm down, love.”

That didn’t seem to be happening.  If Steve possessed the physical capacity to fight Tony, he clearly would be.  Or not.  Maybe Steve wasn’t touching him now because he was afraid of what would happen to him if he fought.  If he resisted at all.  It didn’t matter.  Tony sighed slowly, trying to stay cool.  “Thor, can you go find Bruce?  Maybe he can give Steve a sedative or something.”  Steve stiffened anew.  Again, this was a first brush of a real response, but it wasn’t more than that: just a small, weak flinch.  He still didn’t speak, didn’t really move.  It was hardly anything, and he went right back to being still and helpless in Tony’s embrace and completely unaffected by Tony’s attempts to soothe him.

Thor watched a moment more.  “I believe Bruce said the serum is making it difficult to medicate him,” he grimly declared.  “He is concerned painkillers will soon no longer have any effect.  He has been trying to create something stronger.”  Tony knew that.  Bruce had been down in the lab all day so far, working to come up with some sort of medication through which the serum wouldn’t burn in a matter of minutes.  It had been a problem for the team since the beginning, that there was no good way to give Steve pain relief when he was hurt.  A lot of the time he simply suffered through it with Tony at his side, with Tony silently thanking their lucky stars that the serum worked fast so the misery was short-lived.  Steve had been on a steady supply of morphine since he’d regained consciousness.  Bruce (and the other doctors) had argued that the soporific effects were probably contributing to his altered mental state and had used that to advocate yet again for patience. 

Fuck patience.  Tony didn’t have any, not when Steve was suffering like this.  “Go ask him anyway.  Please?”

Thor was reluctant, darting his eyes among Natasha, Tony, and Steve, but he left.  Natasha shifted to stand in front of the door protectively, every muscle in her slender, lithe form tense.  She didn’t meet Tony’s gaze, arms folded across her chest, eyes focused on Steve’s face where Tony held his head to his chest.  She seemed ready to cry or kill someone or both.

Tony sighed.  He let a moment or two go by, giving himself a chance to calm down as well.  Then he loosened his grip on Steve.  Steve immediately pulled away, turning as much as he could and squeezing his eyes shut.  His face was bloodless, still pasty gray, and bathed in perspiration.  “Steve,” Tony said, sitting on the side of the bed.  He picked up Steve’s hand where he was clenching the hospital blanket as much as he could.  “Shhh.  Easy.”  He rubbed his palm over the back of Steve’s hand in slow, tender sweeps. “It’s alright.  Take it easy.  It’s alright.”

Steve didn’t open his eyes.  His breathing remained stiff and shallow, as if he was afraid to even do that.  Tony couldn’t stand it, and he couldn’t stand the fact that Steve was still so dangerously _thin._   Yes, it was better than it had been down in Ty’s lab and when they’d brought Steve here, but it was a far, far cry from the healthy, beautiful, _normal_ state in which he’d been when Ty had kidnapped him.  The nurse’s warnings about Steve making himself sick again by not eating or drinking, the fact that she basically threatened that he’d be put back on a feeding tube, make him even more anxious.  “You want to try again?”  He reached for the cup of applesauce the nurse had left and brought it closer.  “Steve?”

Whatever modicum of peace Steve had achieved went right out the window.  He went tense again, and his breathing picked up to a short, wheezy panting.  Tony left him to ball his hands in the blankets anew while he scooched closer along the mattress to raise the spoon to Steve’s lips.  “Come on,” he coaxed quietly.  Steve flinched and turned his head further away.  Never once did he open his eyes.  Tony bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.  “Sweetheart, you have to eat.  You have to.  Can you try?  For me?”  Steve’s mouth remained firmly shut.  Tony tried to bring the spoon closer, and Steve seemed to sense it was there, turning his head even more.  Tony felt sick.  “Steve, please…  You have to try.”

Steve gasped a little sob.  It was heart-wrenching.  _Just fuck._   Tony lowered the spoon, frustrated and horrified all over again.  He shook his head even though Steve wasn’t looking at him.  “You have to eat.  You have to.  The serum’s trying to heal you, but it can’t without you giving it the energy.”  It felt stupid to explain this.  For Christ’s sake, Steve _had_ to know he needed to eat to get better.  Tony sighed more, his eyes burning, and suddenly getting Steve to have a single fucking spoon full of applesauce seemed more important than anything in the world.

And thus his failure felt monumental.  He wasn’t going to force Steve, though.  He wasn’t going to force him to do anything.  After another minute or two of waiting and pleading and coaxing and cajoling, he gave up.  “Alright, love,” he mumbled, fighting to keep his own emotions in check as he put the spoon back in the little cup and pushed the rolling table away in surrender.  Steve was still shaking, even with the threat of the food out of sight.  Tony rubbed his thigh, hating that there was hardly any muscle there, hating that Steve was so frightened of something so seemingly simple, hating most of all that he didn’t know what was wrong or how to fix it.  Tony averted his gaze, afraid to cry.  “It’s alright.  You don’t have to.  You don’t have to do anything.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

There was a knock at the door.  It opened, and Bruce hesitantly poked his head inside.  “How’s it going?” he asked worriedly.  He stepped in, a couple syringes in his hand.  Thor followed and securely closed the door behind them.  The demigod winced when he saw that Steve was yet so distraught, like he’d foolishly entertained the possibility that Tony could make this all right as rain while he’d been gone.  Yeah, that was impossible.

Bruce winced at the scene before him, at the untouched food and the distraught patient and the horrified, helpless husband.  “No luck?”

“Can you help him?” Tony asked in a strained voice.  He stood, wiping uselessly at his eyes.  “He’s scared to death.”

“He’s probably in pain,” Bruce reminded.  “It’s only going to get worse as the meds fail more and more.”  He came closer to the bed before uncapping the first syringe.  “Steve?  Steve, it’s Bruce.  I’m here with some medicine.  It will make it easier for you to sleep, okay?”  Again, it seemed stupid to explain anything to him.  Steve was too far gone in whatever nightmare he was living, trapped in his head and lost up in his trauma.  Bruce frowned and poked the needle into the port along the IV line, injecting the sedative.  Another dose followed the first, and within seconds, Steve finally went lax.  He slipped down easily.

Tony could have screamed.  Instead he buried his face in his hands to keep some semblance of sanity.  He felt like he should say something, like they were all looking to him to _say_ something, but he was empty inside, and there were no words that could possibly make this better.

In the end, after an eternity of painful silence, Bruce spoke.  “We can try again later,” he assured calmly.  “It’s going to be okay.  Nothing about this is going to be easy.  It’s going to take time.”

There was that word again.  _Time._ Tony was so sick, so fucking dizzy, that he couldn’t even find it within himself to angry.  “I know in my head this process requires patience,” Thor mumbled.  Darkly he shook his head.  “But my heart cannot tolerate it.  To see Steve reduced to this, so low and fearful…  Those who hurt him are evil beyond compare.”

“It’s going to get better,” Bruce promised again, and Tony was left wondering when the hell he’d become a bastion of hope and certainty.  The world was truly upside down.  “He needs to be eased back into living.  _Everything_ is going to be difficult, even things that should seem simple.  Eating and talking and walking.  His body hasn’t done those things in seven months.”  _Some of it much longer,_ Tony thought bitterly, staring at his husband’s face.  Even sleeping, Steve wasn’t completely peaceful, lines of pain and tension about his eyes and mouth.  “The best we can do is keep trying and accept the fact that this whole process may be two steps forward, one step back for a while.  The serum will bring him around, but that’s not going to heal everything or make anything easy.”

“Saying such things is far easier than accepting them,” Thor curtly replied.

“I know.  I wish there was something else I could do, that we could do, but–”

“Do you…”  Natasha’s quiet words seemed loud and sudden.  Her voice wavered, and Tony opened eyes he’d clenched shut to see her staring blankly at the bed again with her arms now at her side.  All the icy anger of before had abandoned her, and she seemed white and small.  “Do you think they forced him to eat?”

Tony hadn’t thought about that until now.  The second she said it, though… 

“God.”  Bruce looked ill, pale and troubled.  He laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder for comfort.  “I didn’t even consider that.  God, they must have.”

“I do not understand,” Thor said, though it seemed more like he did and just wasn’t letting himself accept it.  “Why would they…”

“They were harvesting the serum’s biochemical energy,” Tony explained in a deadened tone.  “They needed the serum to keep producing and producing as much as possible.  They needed…”  The image of Steve in that tank flashed before his eyes again.  Ty’s words came back, too, like a snake slithering through his thoughts.  _“Pump enough liquid calories into him, and the serum keeps right on chugging, only we’re taking what it’s making, so it just keeps producing more, and we take that_ …  _It’s just perfect.”_

Of course.  It made sense.  They’d connected Steve to some sort of esophageal feeding tube in the tank. Until they put him in cryostasis, though, they would have had to rely on Steve cooperating.  And Steve was smart.  He’d have figured that out.  And he would have done everything possible to stop them or at least slow them down.  They’d taken his strength, his voice, his capacity to physically struggle, but not his will.  Tony shuddered and closed his eyes.  “Steve fought back the only way he could.”

By not eating.

The room was quiet as the awful implication really sank in.  Thor shook his head.  “Surely he realized that by starving himself he was weakening his own body and reducing the likelihood of his escape.”

“He couldn’t escape.  He tried.  This was his only weapon to defy them,” Tony murmured.  The world spun even faster.  Limply he collapsed in the chair again, his chair, his place at Steve’s side where he could only watch and listen as the horrors went deeper and deeper.  “Jesus. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Thor came to his aid, laying a comforting hand on Tony’s back as he lowered his head and tried not to puke or hyperventilate.  “Breathe, my friend.  Breathe.”

Bruce was pale.  “Force-feeding…  My God,” he murmured.  “Pretty much every respectable human rights advocacy group on the planet has condemned that.”  Like that meant anything here.  “If Steve went on some sort of hunger strike to slow Stone down, this makes everything more complicated.”

“No shit,” Tony hissed, swallowing down the burn of acid in the back of his throat to glare at his friend.  “Fuck.  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”  The more he thought about it, the more his conclusions became undeniable.  Anger welled up inside him again, like lava pouring through fissures in the ground, and he raked his hands through his hair.  His heart was pounding.  His ears were ringing.  He was vaguely aware of the others talking, Thor rubbing his back while loudly expressing more useless outrage and grief, Bruce trying to explain, trying to rationalize and come up with a plan.  The argument rose like a tidal wave, but Tony couldn’t care.  He couldn’t follow it, couldn’t stay afloat as it bowled him over.

“We _need_ to have Doctor Madson and some of the other specialists advise us,” Bruce insisted.  “This is a delicate situation, one that requires expert care, and we could make it worse if he push him too hard or too fast.”

“It seems to me that doctors were the ones to do this to him in the first place,” Thor hotly returned.  “He has clearly formed an association between this very setting and pain.  I admittedly do not know all the details, but what Clint has told me suggests these _researchers_ of Stone’s were little more than monsters under a guise of science and medicine.  You cannot expect Steve to parse the hands of those who hurt him from the hands of those who are trying to help now!  What can these specialists do that will not traumatize him further?”

“I don’t disagree, Thor, but this is _way_ beyond my comfort zone.”

“The answer lies not in medicine but in compassion.  Medicine has saved his body, yes, but this is now an issue of the damage done to his mind and soul.  If eating has become linked to the abuse he suffered, then we must sever that connection and form a new one!”

“It’s not that simple.  I don’t know how–”

“Thor’s right.”  Natasha had been silent as a statue, staring at Steve’s ruined body, at a fucking _sacrifice_ to stop a madman from getting what he wanted.  Now she turned to regard them all, and her face was calm again.  Stoic.  She met Tony’s eyes and gave him a confident nod.  “We need to get him to trust us again.  The rest…  The rest will follow.”

* * *

_The rest will follow.  It will come.  It will get better.  It has to._

Tony tried to believe in what Natasha had said.  He really did.  But it was hard.  It was so fucking _hard._

The fact that he needed to know for sure if Ty and his cronies had really force-fed Steve made things even worse.  He made excuses to the others that he needed a moment to breathe and left Steve sleeping under their care not long after the disaster with the food.  He found an empty, sterile, _quiet_ exam room not far from where Steve was.  There he spent a few long minutes trying not to fall apart completely all over again.  It was right there, this monumental amount of pain and the horror and anguish.  It was lodged like a massive lump in his throat, and he could barely swallow it down, barely breathe around it, barely feel anything else but its pressure.  It was consuming, a hellfire of misery, and standing still was all he could do stay afloat.

Once he felt like he could speak without puking, he pulled out his phone and ordered JARVIS to show him whatever there was in the Ty’s files pertaining to force-feeding Steve.  There was data of course.  And JARVIS fought him _of course_ , arguing that there was no need for Tony to see it, no need to upset him or expose him to further pain.  Doing so was in violation of their agreement.  Tony argued, spat curses, furious that JARVIS was even considering _his_ mental health when Steve was too fucking _scared to eat_.  JARVIS tried to placate him with facts, that Steve began his hunger strike a few weeks into his captivity and that the research team had tried to reason with him at first.  But Steve’s defiance had been strong and unyielding.  The team had attempted IV nutrition but never with the level of success required for how aggressively Ty was draining him.  It wasn’t until the end of Steve’s first month in hell that Ty ordered he be fed no matter what it took.

And Ty, being the fucking sadistic bastard he was, had also ordered the whole thing be filmed.

“No,” JARVIS declared.  “I will not let you see this.  I have already explained why.  I will not let you punish yourself.”

“Steve _can’t eat,_ ” Tony snapped, losing what little remained of his patience.  “Don’t you get that?  If he doesn’t eat, he could die.”

“Sir, it is too soon to think that.”

Even JARVIS didn’t sound convinced of that.  Tony shook his head as he argued with the fucking phone in his hands.  “It’s all I can think.  He’s terrified.  He’s _broken_.  They did things to him, stripped away everything, turned _everything_ against him, and I need to see what happened.  I need to figure out how to help him.”

“Then I will describe it to you.”

“No.  No, that’s not good enough!”

“Sir, please–”

_“Show me the fucking video!”_

The aggravated shout echoed in the small room.  In the silence that followed, Tony’s harsh breathing was thunderous.  It felt like all the other times he’d screamed at JARVIS to do something stupid since Steve was lost.  Some part of him knew better now, knew that he was being ridiculous, childish, fucking _stupid._   JARVIS was right; this would only hurt, only upset him further, but he had a right to _know_.  And he fucking deserved to be upset.  Steve didn’t seem to recognize him at all, let alone trust him, and he deserved to _hurt_ for that!  “Show me,” he ordered again.  The calm obstinacy of his voice surprised him.

JARVIS acquiesced.

_The video showed another room, different from the one where they performed the surgeries and different from the cell.  This was simple, white but without much equipment.  There were more guards than doctors, and they were swarmed around a metal chair that was bolted to the floor.  The sounds of a scuffle came from there.  The soldiers in the way made it difficult to see what was happening, but then the person with the camera moved to the other side of the room and it became obvious the guards were forcing Steve into the chair.  He wasn’t fighting as hard as he had before, and it was clear why.  Already the toll Ty’s procedure was having upon his body was obvious.  He was thinner, paler, covered in the implants and old wounds.  Blood smeared on his arms and legs as his limbs were locked into place on the arms and legs of the chair with huge metal cuffs.  Somewhere between the first escape attempt and now they’d cut his hair, and the implants in his head looked sore and irritated, weeping red as they strapped him down and forced him into submission._

_The guards backed away.  The same doctor who’d directed the surgery was looking down on Steve in annoyance and frustration.  It was quiet a moment, like he was letting the enormity of what was coming sink it and hopefully sway his prisoner to an easier route.  “This is your last chance,” he finally warned.  “You need to eat.  If you keep refusing, we’re going ahead with the procedure.  Trust me when I tell you it won’t be pleasant.”_

_Steve was laboring for air.  With the strap across his neck and forehead, he couldn’t turn his head at all.  They’d taken the gag off, though.  His mouth was bruised and swollen from wearing it.  He didn’t answer, didn’t look at the doctor at all.  He seemed completely unbothered, not frightened, strong and sure and resistant._

_The doctor frowned.  “You’re really making this harder on yourself,” he said.  It was difficult to tell if he felt any worry or sympathy for Steve or if he was simply afraid of Ty’s wrath should they not be successful here.  “Fighting us doesn’t get you anything.  You’re damaging your body more, depriving the serum of what it needs to restore you.  It’s pointless.  Cooperate, and things will be better for you.”_

_Still Steve said nothing, but he did shift his gaze to the other man.  A silent minute crawled away.  It was more than obvious that Steve was exhausted and worn down beyond fighting anymore.  But he glared with everything he had, and it was emphatic.  Fiery.  Defiant.  That look and the silence were more than enough of an answer._

_Finally the doctor sighed.  “Alright, this is pointless.  Bring everything over.”  The guards came back, grabbing Steve and holding him in place though it was miserably obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.  A few nurses approached with a cart of supplies.  There was a black device there made of a material meant to stretch.  It clasped in the back, with rubber prongs in the front that were a couple inches long.  The doctor grabbed that first.  “Hold him.”_

_The soldiers did.  Steve grunted, struggled hard enough that the chair shook and rattled, but it wasn’t enough to break free.  With so many people in the way, the camera moved again and caught a glimpse of the men fitting the device to Steve’s face, grabbing his chin and prying his teeth apart and his mouth open.  They snapped the device around his cheeks.  Steve sobbed softly once it was in place.  It was awful, some sort of gag where the prongs went inside his mouth against his gums and teeth.  It was forcing his jaw down and keeping his mouth wide._

_Then came the tube.  One of the nurses prepared the lubricated rubber tubing before handing it to the doctor, and with the patient completely immobilized, they began to thread it into his mouth, down into his throat.  There had to be some sort of tiny camera affixed to the tip of the tubing because the doctor monitored the tube’s location on a tablet another nurse held up for him to avoid entry into the trachea and lungs.  It was hideous to see, and the sound of Steve gagging was awful.  His hands gripped the arms of the chair with crushing force._

_A few minutes later, the doctor was satisfied.  “Hook up the solution.”_

_The nurses came with a bucket that contained some sort of creamy glop.  Using a funnel, they poured the mixture into the top of the tube, held up by the doctor and his assistants.  The white substance filled the clear tubing slowly, sinking down until it reached the section in Steve’s mouth.  Steve squeezed his eyes shut.  Tears rolled down his temples.  Between the straps holding him in place and the guards keeping him down, there was nothing he could do but breathe through his nose and wait for it to end._

_It took forever.  When all the solution was finally down, the guards tightened their grips as the doctors pulled the tube free.  Steve trembled violently, until at last it was all out.  The nurses immediately undid the straps from his head, and he leaned forward and retched, sobbing as he did.  Far less came up than what had been forced down, so the doctor seemed pleased.  “Get him prepped for the procedure.  Doctor Stone will be down in an hour.”_

_Steve screamed, his frustration and misery utterly overwhelming.  It didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered.  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even prevent them from forcing him to eat.  They dragged him from the chair, and there was nothing he could do to stop it._

The video went dark.  Tony simply stared at his phone for what felt like forever, too horrified to think.  He licked dry lips, sore and chapped from chewing.  “How often did they do this to him?” he heard himself ask.

“Nearly every day,” JARVIS quietly responded, “until they put him into cryostasis.  This was the first time.  After that…  They often fed him for hours at a time before connecting him to the machine.  The procedure was performed slowly in an effort to provide him with enough of the solution to meet his caloric requirements while not rupturing his stomach.”

“They…”  _Hours._   Hours strapped in that chair, that tube in his mouth and throat, food being forced into him.  Thor was absolutely right.  Strip away the science and the medicine, and they were all just fucking _monsters._

The room spun.  The next thing Tony knew he was down on his knees, collapsing against the examination table, crying and shivering and so goddamn _lost._   A minute or two slipped away.  They felt like forever.  “I don’t…”  He could hardly get a breath into his body to speak.  “I don’t know why this is so fucking upsetting.  I watched them hurt him worse…”

“Many victims of force-feeding liken the experience to being raped,” JARVIS solemnly answered.

Tony stumbled over his own thoughts.  Then he shivered.  _Christ._   There was no evidence that Steve _had_ been raped in the entire time he’d been at Ty’s mercy, but, then, was this any different or better?  Even without the sexual aspects, every second Steve had spent in that hell had been a horrific crime against his person.  Steve had had his autonomy completely taken.  He’d had his body stolen and objects inserted into it against his will.  He’d been fed against his will, touched against his will, kept bound and gagged and nearly naked in what accounts for a basement for an entire year.  He’d been demeaned and degraded and humiliated.  He’d been utterly reduced to someone’s _conquest_.  To Ty’s possession.  A thing to be used.

Was it _really_ any different?

Tony wiped at his eyes again and leaned back against the frame of the bed.  “I don’t know how to help him,” he whispered.  He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, dropping his head onto his knees.  “I don’t know what to do!  JARVIS, what do I do?”

JARVIS paused.  “Sir, I…  Do not give up.”

“I don’t want to see anymore,” Tony moaned.  He shut his eyes tight.  “Nothing more.  I can’t watch anymore!”

“No,” JARVIS agreed.  “Just breathe.  Take a moment to breathe, and then go back.”

Tony knew he needed to.  He knew he needed to breathe.  He had to be strong, to be brave, to hold onto Steve as a constant, unwavering force.  He needed to do all that.  He _needed_ to go back.

But it was a long time before he could.


	14. Chapter 14

Day turned into night.  It wasn’t pleasant.  Steve still refused to eat when the doctors and nurses tried again, when Natasha tried and Thor tried.  When Tony tried.  With the way his rapid metabolism was reasserting itself, everyone was becoming concerned.  The last thing anyone wanted to see was him fall right back down into the state from which he’d barely escaped.  One of the doctors (there were so many handling Steve’s case that Tony couldn’t keep track of them) wanted to return to artificial nutrition, but everyone else (including Bruce and especially Tony) agreed that it was too soon to think about that and a major step backwards besides.  Steve was well hydrated and receiving the necessary electrolytes, vitamins, and minerals through the IV, so for the moment, they’d wait before deciding to take more drastic measures.

That didn’t mean Tony was any more certain of what to do.  He’d spent the last few hours, the whole afternoon and most the evening in fact, mentally shutting down.  Pained and exhausted, he was now on his way back to Steve’s room, dreading settling into what promised to be a long and difficult night.  Clint had been sitting with Steve while Tony had spoken with the doctors and eaten a quick dinner (although eating anything right now felt weird and almost like some sort of betrayal.  It wasn’t fucking rational, but nothing about any of this was rational).  The second Tony reached the room, he saw Clint had been trying again to get Steve to eat; on the table beside the bed there was a fresh tray full of food.  A plate of rice and a little bowl of soup and more Jell-O and applesauce and pudding.  Glasses of juice and water.  None of it was touched.

Clint turned at the sound of Tony coming in.  “Hey, Steve, Tony’s back,” he said, glancing at Tony before looking at Steve.  He smiled.  “Love of your life?  Man of your dreams?  The asshat we all told you not to marry?  Tony.  You know him.”

Steve’s eyes were focused on the window.  It was dark now, dark and raining, and the lights from across the roof and down in the parking lot made the beads of water on the pane glitter.  Rather than being pretty or at all enchanting, it appeared cold and dismal, about as cold and dismal as Tony felt when he saw Steve still in that stupor and not responding at all to the very obvious attempt to get some sort of positive reaction out of him.

Clint shook his head, pain in his eyes.  “Come on, Cap.  You promised me you were gonna clean this tray before he got here.”  He picked up the plate with the rice and offered up a spoon full to Steve.  “So here.  Some really, _really_ yummy rice.  Not at all bland or boring.  I know hospital food is utter shit, but you have to eat it.  Open up?”  Steve totally ignored him.  _Something new and different,_ Tony bitterly thought.  Clint frowned, like he’d actually expected some other response.  “I don’t need to do the airplane maneuver, do I?”

“No,” Tony said.  “I can take over.”

Clint set the food back to the tray.  “Fury’s here.  He’s looking for you.”  He turned around.  “Don’t be afraid to tell him to fuck off.”

Tony couldn’t help a small, snarky grin.  “When have I ever been afraid to tell him that?”

Clint grinned, too, but it was equally small and weak.  “I’ll hold down the fort a little longer.”  He picked up the rice again and doggedly went back to trying to cajole Steve into having some.

Tony turned his gaze to Steve a second more, his body limp in the bed and his gaze still focused on the window.  Putting that label on what had been done to him – _rape_ – made so much sense, but it sure as shit didn’t make any of this easier to process.  The devastation was too much to bear, so Tony sighed and headed back out into the hallway to find Fury.

It wasn’t all that hard.  The SHIELD Director was out by the nurse’s station, and Sitwell and Madson, the psychologist from before, were standing with him.  “I hope this is important,” Tony groused as he approached.  “I have better things to do than shoot the shit with you guys, like more useless coaxing and praying at Steve’s bedside.”

Fury didn’t wince exactly, but it was clear Tony’s words hurt.  He regarded Tony with stern worry in his good eye, the same expression he always seemed to have of late.  For the last year, anyway.  “A little bird told me you’re planning on moving Rogers back to New York as soon as possible.”

“Not nice to call Barton that,” Tony chided.  _Christ, not this bullshit again._ “And so what?”

Sitwell shook his head.  Tony never much liked the guy, and if his humorless expression was any indication, that wasn’t about to change.  “Mr. Stark, I realize you’ve been preoccupied with Captain Rogers’ situation here, but you have to be aware that there’s a pretty substantial media firestorm concerning the kidnapping.  As long as he remains here under SHIELD’s care, we can better control the information spread.”

“You mean you can cover your own asses better,” Tony snapped.  _Here we go._   The same way things always went with SHIELD.  Fucking plausible deniability.  “Steve was kidnapped in the middle of a SHIELD assault op.  SHIELD handled the investigation.  SHIELD declared him dead.  SHIELD closed the books on the whole thing.  The fact that you guys got serious egg on your faces is not even remotely close to my top priority right now, so how about you spare us all the argument and fuck off?”  There.  Mission accomplished.

Predictably Sitwell looked affronted.  Professionally so, of course.  Before he could say anything though, Fury stepped in.  “Tony, yes, I can’t deny that mitigating the public fall-out over Steve’s abduction is a serious concern.  It’s not just in SHIELD’s best interests, either.  The White House and the World Security Council do not want information about what Stone did to him leaking to the press.”

“Neither do I,” Tony said.

“Then you can appreciate that keeping everything locked down is extremely important.  The media is all over this.  Not that I don’t trust you or the rest of the team to stay quiet, but the more people we involve, the more of a risk it becomes, and I know you’ll be bringing doctors and therapists on to help deal with Rogers’ care.”

Tony sighed.  He didn’t have the time or patience for this bullshit.  “You think I don’t know how to keep things quiet?  Stark Industries has lawyers on staff, you know.  Expensive ones.  _Really_ expensive ones.  We know how to write a fucking NDA.”

“We’re aware of that,” Fury said.

“It’s a minor miracle everything has stayed as contained as it has.”

“I don’t disagree that it is.”

“And I said it before: _this_ shouldn’t be the biggest worry at the moment.  Steve getting better should be.”

“I don’t disagree with that, either.”

“So what the fuck then, Nick?  I’m Steve’s husband and his legal medical proxy.  Me, not you.”  That was probably more forceful and harsh than was warranted, but people could get off his case about this.  Whether it was said gently and with concern or like this, everyone’s doubt was really starting to piss him off, especially after what had happened.  Especially after everyone had _ignored_ him before and caused this fucking nightmare.  “I want Steve home, and I have very valid, objective reasons for wanting that.  And, yeah, I have emotional reasons, too, but they’re no less valid.  But the validity of any of it is irrelevant because it’s my call.  It’s _my_ choice.  Not SHIELD’s, not the President’s, not _anyone’s_.  I’d appreciate someone respecting that!”

“We respect that,” Fury calmed in a low tone.  “Of course, we do.  But–”

“There are no buts,” Tony snapped.  “He needs to be home.  With me.”

Fury shook his head.  “He’s safe here.  You have to know that.”

“Well, I don’t,” Tony snapped.  He was getting more and more aggravated by the second, and he didn’t want to hear anything these people had to say.  “I don’t trust anything right now, not SHIELD or anybody else.  I’ll excuse you for being in my way.”

Fury’s expression was unreadable.  Sitwell’s wasn’t.  “That’s preposterous, Mr. Stark.  And even if it wasn’t, Captain Rogers hasn’t been cleared for discharge,” he argued, glancing between his superior and Tony.  “At the moment, he’s not capable of eating, let alone consuming the amount of calories to sustain his enhanced metabolism.  Doctor Thayer wants to give it until morning, but if he’s not eating by then–”

“Then what?”  Tony knew he should stay calm, but it felt impossible.  “Then you hook him back up to the feeding tube?  Put him back under?  Just like the fucking monster who did this to him in the first place?  He’s too hard to deal with, so wire him up and force him down.”

Fury’s eye flashed.  “Stark, that’s enough.  That’s not what we’re saying, and you know it.”

The cool, stern tone of Fury’s voice cut right through Tony’s paranoia and anger.  He physically jerked, shuddering.  “I know,” he managed after a minute.  He pressed his hand to his aching head.  _Christ._ “I know.  Sorry.”

The sounds of the hospital seemed thunderous in the silence that followed.  “Look,” Fury quietly began, “we know this has been a nightmare for you.  It’s unimaginable.  But believe me: we’re not your enemies.  We _all_ have Captain Rogers’ best interests at heart here, but there are other considerations we can’t ignore.”

“I know,” Tony said again wearily.  _Nothing is ever simple._   “I realize he’s not ready to come home, okay?  I’m not whisking him out of here right this second.  I never said I was.”

Madson suddenly spoke up.  “Ms. Potts has been in contact with me about arranging care for Captain Rogers back in New York.  I might have jumped the gun on getting worried about the timing, and for that I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.  Are we through here?”  Tony didn’t wait for an answer, turning to go.

Madson jumped forward to stop him.  “Listen, Mr. Stark, I’m not dismissing your wishes at all.   Not at all.  I think having Captain Rogers recover at home would be highly beneficial, to him and to you and to the Avengers as a whole.”  Tony stopped, shocked to hell to _finally_ have someone agree with him.  Madson nodded enthusiastically.  “He’s endured nothing short of medical torture, so keeping him here is undoubtedly traumatizing.  A familiar place filled with familiar people and familiar comforts may go a long way toward helping with his convalescence.  It may be what is needed to get through to him right now.  Your care in the safety and privacy of your home is probably far more valuable than anything we can do for him at this point.”  Madson glanced at Fury and Sitwell.  “But I think we all agree that Captain Rogers isn’t well enough to leave a hospital setting yet.  Worries are running high.  It’s not even been a day, granted, since the nurses’ first attempt to feed him, but with the amount of calories he needs to be consuming, with his injuries…  It’s a definite concern that he could get worse very quickly.  Reintroducing food after chronic starvation is always a tricky thing.”

 _You have no fucking clue._   And this was the same shit the doctors had just told him, the same shit he knew and feared.  God, he hated hospitals.  Madson smiled gently like he could sense Tony’s agitation.  “As Doctor Thayer and the rest of the team told you, I think that we should give the situation another twenty-four hours.  If tomorrow afternoon comes and we haven’t made any headway in convincing him to eat, we’ll consider what to do next.  Doctor Miller informed you that the latest scans were negative, correct?”  Tony nodded.  They’d performed another round of PET scans that afternoon, and the hints of possible brain damage they’d detected before were almost completely nonexistent now.  The serum was working.  Again, Tony should have been happier.  “All signs point to this being a psychological issue, one that’s completely natural given what Captain Rogers endured.  The nonverbal state, the flat affect, the mental dissociation…  Those are extremely common in patients who’ve suffered from extreme trauma.  Patience and determination is key.  I’m planning on bringing in someone who specializes in treating anorexia and other eating disorders tomorrow morning, as well as an expert in PTSD and anxiety.  Until then, keep doing what you’re doing.”

Yep, the same shit, over and over and _over_ again.  Tony looked at Madson and his encouraging smile, at Fury and his firm stare.  Even Sitwell seemed surprisingly confident.  All of it made Tony feel weird and impotent, and he nodded before getting the hell out of there.

He didn’t even make it back to Steve’s room before his phone beeped in his pocket.  He pulled it out and saw JARVIS had sent him a text message.  _“Go someplace private please.”_   If he’d had any sense of courage before, it utterly wilted.  This couldn’t be anything good.  Christ, he didn’t think he could take anymore.  For a second, he considered ignoring the message altogether.

He didn’t.  He went to the same empty exam room in which he’d taken refuge before.  The second he entered it, the lights winked on, revealing that vacant hospital bed and the idle equipment and supplies.  Tony softly closed the door.  His heart was pounding, his head swimming in dizziness, his stomach clenching in mounting nausea over the thought of something further he needed to see or hear or accept about this nightmare.  “What?” he moaned at his phone.

JARVIS’ voice came through the speaker.  “I have found something you need to see, sir.”

 _Goddamn it._   “No.”

“Sir–”

 _“No._   No more.  I said that.  No more!  You’re the one who told me no more!”

JARVIS was undaunted.  “Sir, please.  You must see this.  It is vital.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because you must know.  It is as you said.  You must know so you can help him,” JARVIS answered, calm and comforting.  “I cannot describe it without diminishing its power.  I cannot do it justice.  You must _see_ it.”

Tony’s eyes welled with tears.  He felt so raw, so broken open and low.  For a second or two, he just wavered.  “I’m so tired, J.”  His voice threatened to crack, and he let it.  “So tired and so scared.  So fucking scared!”

“I know,” JARVIS responded, and for just a moment, Tony could almost picture the real Jarvis.  Edwin Jarvis, with his compassionate, wise eyes and gentle hands and soft voice.  Edwin Jarvis tucking him in one night when his father missed his birthday.  Edwin Jarvis making him warm milk and honey when he couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.  Edwin Jarvis soothing a scraped knee or encouraging him through a rough patch in school or watching over him until his mother came.  Those memories brought such a sense of home with them, of peace and belonging.  “I know you are.  Please trust me when I say that there is hope to be found.  Please, sir.  Watch the video.”

Tony opened eyes that he’d let slip shut and looked down at his phone.  The screen was dark aside from the PLAY icon.  He lingered a second more, utterly doubting that he had the emotional strength to subject himself to one more second of Steve’s torture, wondering if there was any point at all.

But JARVIS had told him to watch, so he pressed the button.

_The image winked to life.  It was the lab, the basement, and the cryostasis tank showed in the background.  It was dark, empty, threatening.  Ty stood in front of it.  He looked incredible, so much younger with healthy skin and bright eyes and lean muscles covering his body.  The look on his face, though, was vicious, and he watched with ire as the research team scrambled to get the tank ready._

_And as his men brought in the prisoner._

_Steve’s hands were bound behind him, the guards gripping his arms while they dragged him into the room.  He was shivering, suffering, so much thinner than he had been.  His bones were plainly visible under sallow skin, skin that was still marked and bruised with injuries that had never healed.  His body was littered with the implants, secure in his flesh, and his face was gaunt and white with illness.  His eyes were bright, though.  Despite everything that had been done to him, they were bright and fiery even when the soldiers roughly threw him at Ty’s feet.  He went down on his knees, nearly smacked his face on the concrete of the floor, but he didn’t.  He got his balance and leaned up, glaring furiously at the man who’d taken him._

_Ty wasn’t even looking back.  He was scowling at what were probably thousand dollar leather loafers, where blood and mud from Steve’s face had splattered.  “This is fucking ridiculous.  This is the third time he’s made it out of the building.”  He kicked his foot lightly to get the mess off._

_One of the soldiers shook her head.  She was covered in mud, too, like she’d wrestled with someone in wet soil.  “Sir, with all due respect, what did you expect?  He’s Captain America.  Did you really think it’d be easy to hold him?  We were lucky that we caught him before he made it to the woods!”_

_Ty didn’t seem to hear, or if he did, he didn’t care.  “It’s been five months.  Five months!  What the hell does it take for you people to do your jobs?  You all suck.  It’s disgusting.”  He turned to the doctor.  “Is the tank ready?”_

_Unsurprisingly considering how everything else had gone for months and months, the doctor looked unhappy.  “It is, sir, but we’ve rushed through the final preparations on this one, and with the other tank not even operational yet–”_

_“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut up,” Ty snapped.  The doctor closed his mouth, flushing with anger.  “I am really tired of this.  Tired of the hold-ups, tired of spending money left and right, tired of the fucking incompetence that surrounds me.  Yours and theirs.  Everyone’s.  This has been one disaster and delay after another.”_

_The doctor was absolutely affronted.  “Doctor Stone, that’s not fair.  This project is unprecedented and there’s no way we could–”_

_“Get him in the tank.  Now.  This ends today.  Get him in there and wire him up and that’ll be it.”  Ty shook his head.  “Unbelievable.  All of this, everything I’ve built and put together, everything I’ve done…  I designed this system to be fucking fool-proof, but apparently I underestimated how goddamn stupid everyone is.  We should have done this from the beginning.”_

_The soldiers and doctors hesitated.  Maybe doing this was akin to giving up, to surrendering to the fact they couldn’t_ _handle the prisoner and couldn’t make this process work smoothly.  Maybe it was submission to the harsh accusations Ty had just made (and had been making since the get-go).  Or maybe, though it seemed unlikely, their misgivings were out of sympathy, like this final atrocity was too much to commit after months of committing so many others.  Everyone the world over knew what suspended animation meant to Captain America._

_Ty completely lost his patience.  “Get him in the fucking tank!  Right now!”_

_The men grabbed Steve’s arms and yanked him up to his feet.  Steve wobbled, struggled, but he wasn’t going anywhere.  Surely he knew what he was facing.  The cryostasis tank was right there, right behind Ty, looming like a monster, and surely he knew what it was and what it meant.  However, he didn’t panic.  He just pulled and twisted, eyes fixated on Ty, and shouted, “You’re not smarter than him!”_

_The sound of his voice, after being silent for so long, was thunderous.  Still, Ty just turned around, ignoring Steve completely.  He gestured angrily at his people.  “Hurry up.”_

_“No!” Steve yelled.  His voice was rough with misuse, but it was loud and sure.  “You’re not!  You’re not smarter than he is!”_

_“Shut him up,” Ty ordered irately. “How many fucking times do I have to say it?  Get him in the tank!  Now!”_

_Before anyone could do a thing, Steve gave a ragged cry and wrenched away from the soldiers restraining him.  In his split second of freedom, he could have attempted to run.  He could have fought them, tried to find a weapon, done everything in his power to avoid his fate.  But he didn’t.  He charged at Ty, scrambling against the guards blocking his way and holding him back.  “You are not smarter than Tony.”_

_That got Ty’s attention.  He finally looked to Steve, finally regarded him as more than a possession even though his thugs were driving Steve down onto the floor again.  “What did you say?”_

_The men holding Steve let him up a bit, enough to raise his head.  “You aren’t smarter than Tony,” he declared again.  His eyes were narrowed, and every muscle, as withered as they were, was tense.  As bound and hobbled and broken as he was, he still had power.  And he was still struggling.  “You think you are, but you’re not.  You’re not!  You’re not smarter than him, not better than him!”_

_“Who said this has anything to do with Stark?” Ty asked.  It was obvious that he was trying to be cool and nonplussed, but what Steve had said – this simple comparison between him and Tony – had already gotten under his skin.  There was doubt in his eyes, doubt and fear.  He could have done what he’d always done in the past, ignored Steve and ordered him gagged or taken away or beaten or otherwise silenced, but he was actually addressing him.  Talking with him.  Revealing a touch of weakness and giving Steve this tiny chance._

_And Steve took it.  “It has everything to do with him,” he seethed.  “I don’t know who you are.  I don’t know what you did to him.  But I know that.  I know that!”_

_“You don’t know anything,” Ty snapped._

_“I know you’re not smarter than he is!”_

_Rage flashed in Ty’s eyes, and he backhanded Steve.  Steve was knocked to the side by the blow.  He was too weak to stay upright, and if it wasn’t for the soldiers grabbing his shoulders and steadying him, he would have toppled.  Ty glared down at his prisoner, at the man he’d slowly been destroying for months.  “You think he’s going to find you?  You think he’s going to come rescue you?  Let me clue you in on something.  No one_ _knows you’re here.  No one even knows you’re alive.  They all think you burned to death in that explosion.  I took you, and no one has any idea.  Not SHIELD.  Not the Avengers.  And certainly not Tony.”  Ty grinned maliciously, but still that doubt shone in his eyes.  “You should have seen him at your funeral.  The news ran the footage over and over again.  Sitting there, trying hard not to break down, trying so desperately to keep his shit together.  Poor guy.  The whole world was falling over itself mourning you, and he sat there like a statue.  How much you wanna bet he went back home and cried himself to sleep?  All by himself that big, empty bed and your big, empty bedroom inside that big, empty tower.  Boo fucking hoo.”_

_The camera caught Steve’s eyes welling with tears.  He didn’t cry, though.  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll find me.  Somehow he will.”_

_“It’s been five months,” Ty declared sharply.  “Five months since I brought you here.  You’ve been gone,_ dead, _for five months.”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said again without missing a beat._

_Rage exploded in Ty’s face, and he hit Steve again.  “When are you getting it through your thick fucking skull?” he snarled.  “Huh?  When are you going to stop fighting me?”_

_Steve’s eyes were still wet, and after this last harsh blow, he was struggling to stay conscious, wheezing and shivering even worse.  But not for a second did he back down.  “Never,” he hissed.  “I’ll never stop fighting you.  Put me in that tank because that’s the only way you’ll win, and even then, even then, I know Tony is coming for me.  You can beat me, drain me, hurt me, but Tony will always be there for me.  He’s coming.”_

_Ty’s patience dwindled further.  “There’s no way he’ll ever figure it out.  He thinks you’re dead.  He thinks what I made him think.  He’s already moved on.  He’ll_ never _find you!”_

 _There was blood smeared on Steve’s chin, and finally the tears in his eyes spilled down his gaunt, pale cheeks, but still,_ still _, he held his ground.  “You don’t know him,” he said firmly.  “Not like I do.  You don’t know how his brain works.  When he gets something in his head, he won’t let it go.  He can’t let it go until he understands it.  So maybe you think you fooled everyone, covered your tracks, got away clean, but you didn’t.  There’s something you missed, a mistake you made, some clue you left behind, some tiny hint of_ something _, and Tony will find it.  He won’t give up when he does, not until he_ knows _.  He won’t give up on me.  Then he’ll come.”  Steve actually smiled.  It was calm, confident.  Certain.  “Like I said: you’re not smarter than he is.”_

_Ty glared at him for a moment, and Steve stared right back.  He was at Ty’s mercy, had been since the man had kidnapped him, but right then he seemed every bit as strong, as powerful._

_Then Ty lost what little remained of his restraint.  He grabbed Steve’s chin, squeezing hard, digging his well-manicured nails into his flesh.  “Well, let’s see how smart he feels when he gets here to find you on ice.”  Steve’s eyes stayed narrowed, hateful and teary, as Ty shoved him back into the guards.  “Do it.”_

JARVIS shut the video off.  Tony looked up from his darkened phone.  He tasted salt on his lips, felt wetness on his cheeks.  Apparently he’d been crying.  His voice didn’t work for a second, his brain rattling and shorting.  “Ty put him in cryostasis,” he finally murmured, like there could be any doubt.

“Yes,” JARVIS said, “but that is not why I showed you this.”

Tony closed his eyes.  “What…  I don’t…”

“He never gave up on you,” JARVIS explained.  “Never.”  Tony was so overcome that he couldn’t process that for a second.  He was numb and lost and reeling.  “He had faith you would come for him until the very end.  And there is more.  There is footage…  I can show you, if you wish, but know that it contains many moments where he spoke to you.”

“To me?” Tony whispered.

“Yes.  He spoke to you as if you were there with him.  He spoke of your life together.  He seemed to draw strength from his memories.  They grounded him, even when he was suffering.”  Tony could picture it: Steve in that horrid, little cell, speaking to thin air but imagining Tony’s face, hearing his voice, feeling his touch.  He could picture it because he’d done the same back home.  The same day in and day out for a year.  _He did what I did._ All those long nights fighting sleep, those long moments where he’d remembered Steve, where he’d lost himself in pictures and videos and the comfort of the quiet places in his heart… 

JARVIS went on.  “He promised you he would hang on.  He vowed over and over again that he would see you again.  He did what you did, sir.  He believed.”

_He did what I did.  He believed I would find him.  He believed until the very end._

“It is as I said.”  Again JARVIS’ voice was soft and comforting.  “The bond between you cannot be severed.  Stone could not break it.  Stone did not break _him_.  No matter what he did, how awful it was, he _could not._   Nothing broke Captain Rogers’ spirit.  He never gave up on you.”

Tony opened his eyes again.  His phone was still dark in his hands.  He stared at his dim reflection in the harsh, fluorescent lighting.  His familiar eyes and his messy hair and unshaven face.  Who he was.  He took a deep breath and let himself be calm, too.  Calm and confident.  Certain.  _Steve believed in me._

_So I have to believe in him._

* * *

He took some time to think before returning to Steve’s side. He walked the quiet SHIELD hospital for a few laps and let his brain do what it did best.  His mind was moving faster than his feet, practically racing as he considered what he knew.  What he’d learned.  What he’d seen.  _Everything_ he’d seen.  _Steve believed in me._   _Steve never gave up._ He knew that now, knew that Steve had truly fought Ty every step of the way.  He’d fought him through the kidnapping, through the countless surgeries, through his life being drained away.  Through beatings   and humiliations and violations upon violations.  He’d fought hard, and he’d never let go of his hope to the very last second.

But if that video JARVIS showed Tony had been filmed right before Steve had been put in the tank, what could have caused him to lose his faith between then and now?  It didn’t make sense.  Sure, Steve had endured a tremendous shock to his body waking up here after months of torture, so maybe it was like Tony had thought before: Steve didn’t need a bigger reason to be so screwed up, so completely detached.  Tony didn’t think it was that simple, though.  Seven months had passed while Steve had been in cryostasis, but to Steve, it would have been no time at all, so if he’d believed Tony would save him before, he should still now.

Unless…  Maybe their assumptions about Steve’s perceptions of it all weren’t true.  Steve wasn’t talking, was nonverbal and catatonic for all intents and purposes, so it wasn’t like he could tell them what he thought.  Still Ty had made some comment that Steve probably hadn’t been dreaming while in the tank.  Bruce had thought that as well, given the information he’d had from the tank’s logs.  According to him, Steve had been deeply unconscious, by all rights comatose.  He’d been unaware of everything, of the passage of time, of where he was and what was happening to him.  But what if he had been at least somewhat aware?  The serum was incredible, so powerful and extraordinary, that maybe it had prevented the cryostasis from inhibiting all neural activity.  Tony knew Steve had nightmares about the ice from when he’d crashed the _Valkyrie_ in 1945.  Steve had told him once or twice that he remembered a surprising amount of the experience.  He remembered the impact, the water pouring into the crumpled cockpit of the plane, his own panicked and futile efforts to escape with the injuries he’d had and with how the plane was sinking.  He remembered slowly drowning, freezing, dying.  He remembered things afterward, too, not the years that went by per se, but the sensation of being cold and trapped.  He remembered the dreams he’d had.  _The dreams he’d had,_ because the serum hadn’t shut his body down completely.

What if this was the same?  The serum fighting, keeping his brain functional at even the slightest level…  What if he’d been trapped in his mind?  What if he’d been dreaming, locked away in a world of nightmares or who knew what, unable to tell reality from imagination?  What if he’d even been conscious at times, conscious enough at least to have realized months had gone by?  Aware enough at least to have lost his faith and become so terribly confused.

And now that he was truly awake and free, he’d convinced himself that this reality couldn’t be real.  He’d convinced himself not to trust in hope.

_Get him to trust you.  The rest will come._

By the time Tony got back, he knew what he had to do.  It was late and getting later.  A heavy blanket of night was turning everything cold and claustrophobic.  Natasha was there in the room at Steve’s side, helplessly watching Steve tremble in the bed.  “Bruce thinks he’s in pain,” she declared as Tony came closer.  She was stiff herself, agitated, pale, and miserable.  “He tried a stronger dose of the medication he developed, but I don’t think it’s working.  There’s not much else they can do.”

Steve’s face was turned to the window again, his eyes tightly closed, but it was obvious he wasn’t sleeping.  He was breathing in short pants, very clearly suffering and maybe afraid to show it.  Tony took a deep breath, ignoring the throbbing in his chest and head.  “Let me sit with him a while.”

Natasha turned again.  “You sure?  It’s alright.  I don’t mind.”

She was giving him an out, a way to escape something was definitely going to be difficult.  He wasn’t going to take it.  “Yeah.  I can handle it.”  His voice didn’t waver at all.

Natasha hesitated a moment more, searching Tony’s face.  Tony gave her a little, firm nod.  Then she stood, grasping Steve’s hand where it was tense on the hospital bed and bringing it to her mouth for a kiss.  Seemingly battling tears anew, she ducked outside.  The door closed softly behind her.

For a moment, Tony stood still.  The hospital was eerily quiet.  The world was so black beyond the windows that it almost seemed like it had vanished completely, like there was an abyss outside that stretched endlessly.  Like there was nothing in the world aside from this room, the bed and Steve in it and the empty chair beside him.  Drawing another deep breath, Tony stepped to the seat in which he’d spent so much time these last days and gingerly lowered himself into it.  Despite all the time he’d spent wandering and thinking, it still took him a while to gather himself, to embrace that strength inside him.  _Calm and certain._

_He never gave up on me._

“When you died…”  He stopped himself, looking down with a rueful smile and teary eyes.  “When they told me you were dead, I felt like my whole life was collapsing.  I felt like…  I can’t even describe it.  Pain doesn’t come close to explaining what I was feeling.  Neither does grief or anger or fear…  It was like I was lost in a dark ocean, and all I could do was tread water and try not to drown.  I couldn’t let myself accept it, couldn’t let it go.  Couldn’t let you go.  I never felt at peace.  I was never certain you were gone.  It was like this niggling thought, this whisper in my head, and I couldn’t get it to stop no matter what I did.”

Steve didn’t respond or react.  Tony hesitated a moment, thinking about all that Steve suffered at the hands of Ty’s people, before tentatively touching his hand.  He took a deep breath.  “I know why now.  I know why I couldn’t let it go.  It was because I _knew_ I’d find you, just like you knew I’d come.  I know you believed that.  Look at me, Steve.  Open your eyes.  Please.”  Steve still didn’t.  On the contrary, he seemed to squeeze his eyes shut tighter.  That hurt so much that Tony almost lost his determination again.

But he couldn’t.  “I need to show you something, love.  Please trust me.  Can you do that?  I know…  This is overwhelming for you.  It’s overwhelming for me, too.  There have been a ton of times over the past week that I’ve nearly convinced myself it’s not real.  It is, though.  It’s real and it’s terrifying and it hurts so damn much…  But you know what?  We’re together.”  Tony took a deep breath.  “And you know what else?  We’ve…   Well, it’s funny, but in a way we’ve _been_ together.  We’ve been together this whole time.  We talked to each other, Steve.  The months we were apart, the miles between us…  We did the same thing.  I talked to you so much, imagined your voice and your touch and your eyes…  Show me your eyes, baby, please.”  He gripped Steve’s hand.  “Look at me.  I need you to see this.  I need you to trust me.  Please trust me?”

For an eternity, it seemed Steve wouldn’t, like he hadn’t for days.  Tony didn’t say anything further.  He just stayed close, held tight to Steve’s hand, and waited.  Steve was quivering and very obviously in pain, just as Natasha had said and just as they all knew would happen.  Tony could only pray the need for comfort would outweigh whatever fear or doubt was keeping Steve locked up in his head.

It took a while, but it did.  It did.  Steve whimpered softly, shifting uncomfortably in small, jerky movements, and cracked open his eyes.  Tony smiled, trying not to let his relief get the best of him.  “Hi.  Hi, darling.  Gotta say you’ve looked better.”  Steve blinked and he weakly tried to pull his hand away.  Tony didn’t let him this time.  “No, Steve.  No, no.  It’s alright.  This is what I need you to see.  Look at your hand.  Your left hand.  Let me help you.”  He raised Steve’s left hand, the one he was holding, up at bit so Steve could see his own fingers.  They weren’t so thin and bony as they had been, but they still weren’t what they should be.

One thing was right, though.  The one thing Tony could show him that might prove to him that he was free.  Gently Tony smiled.  “Look.  He took it and threw it away, but I found it.  I found it and put it back.  See?”

Steve’s eyes drifted down his fingers until they settled on his wedding ring, on the vibranium band around his left ring finger.  Tony could see the confusion cross his face, watched it settle deep in his eyes.  _Come on, baby.  Look and think…  Believe._   “I kept it safe.  The whole year he had you, I kept it safe.  For a while I wore it around my neck because it was like having you close.  I wore it and your dog tags and slept with that sweatshirt.  You know, the one I gave you for Valentine’s that says ‘Property of SI’ on it?  Yeah, you love that one.  I kept it close.  It smelled like you.  And I talked to you.  God, I talked and talked.  I talked like you were right there with me.  And I watched videos, Steve.  Every video I have of our life…  I watched them all.  Our wedding.  That time you went to bat for me with Fury when he was being a giant dick.  That time – God, one of a hundred times – where you sketched on our couch in my workshop.  That time we made out right there when you were trolling me with the new StarkPhone.  You can be such a troll, babe.  Such a troll.”  Tony kept grinning through his tears.  “Christmases.  Team meetings.  Sparring sessions.  Dinners.  You cooking, you fixing your bike, you fighting.  God, you fighting.  You have no idea how powerful you are, how much you inspire everyone.  You never see how beautiful you are.  And press conferences and galas and vacations and, Steve, our whole _life_ together.  I watched it all, over and over again, every second there was, because I _knew_ in my heart that you weren’t dead so I couldn’t move on.  I couldn’t let myself move on.  I had to remember you, what you looked like and felt like and sounded like.  I had to ground myself in that.”

Steve was still staring at his wedding ring.  The trembling quieted, and he blinked hazily.  Tony slipped off the chair, lowered the rail, and sat on the side of the hospital bed, as close as he could be.  “Every night I dreamed about you.  Every night.  You were in my mind, in my heart, and I knew you were calling to me.  Look, Steve.”  He wrapped his left hand around Steve’s, wove their fingers together so their wedding rings were side by side.  “Look.  He didn’t break us.  He didn’t break you, and he didn’t break me.”  He’d said the day he’d brought Steve here, the day he saved his life.  Things had happened between now and then that had shaken his faith, but now he knew more than ever that it was true.  “He couldn’t break you.  He couldn’t because there’s nothing that can tear us apart.  _Nothing._ ”  Tony smiled wider, staring himself at their joined hands before staring at Steve’s face.  “You aren’t alone anymore, and neither am I.  You don’t have to be afraid.  You don’t have to hurt.  You can speak.  This is real.  I found you, got you out.  I’ve got you.  This is _real_.”

Suddenly Steve was turning, was looking at _him._   Right at him, directly and without fear.  At his face.  At his chest.  At the faint, blue glow of the arc reactor there beneath Tony’s t-shirt.  Tony looked back and watched that confusion turn into something else.  Something _more._   Cognizance.  Realization.  Recognition.  _Understanding._  

Tony smiled and chanced laying his other hand to Steve’s cheek.  “Yeah, I’m here.  I’m here, Steve.”

Now Steve started shaking again and shaking harder.  His eyes filled with tears, but he held fast to Tony’s gaze.  His lips opened.  They were trembling.  “T…”  It was nothing more than a whisper, one that stuttered with weakness and fear.  “T-t…  Tony?”

Tony choked on a sob.  He nodded, grinning like a fool.  “Yeah.  Yes!”

Steve blinked loose tears.  He was terrified, that was clear, and still in pain, but he was reaching out, and his hand tightened in Tony’s grip.  “Tony.”

“Yeah, Steve.  I’m right here!”

“O-over?”

 _Oh, thank God.  Thank God._ “Yeah, it’s over, sweetheart.  It’s all over now.  You’re safe.”  Tony stroked Steve’s cheek with his thumb, brushing over new prickly stubble, and drew their faces closer together.  “I’ve got you.  I’ve got you.”

“Tony.”

Tony couldn’t stifle the sob this time as he leaned down and braced their foreheads together.  Gently he coaxed Steve’s face up, tipping his jaw with a soft press of his fingers, and kissed him.  It was timid, a mere shadow of all the passionate and confident kisses they’d shared, but it was a reaffirmation all the same.  And it felt so good, so much better than the dreams that had tormented Tony for the last year.  It felt right, real, true.  It felt like _Steve_.

Steve didn’t kiss back much, hardly more than a slight press of his lips, but that was enough.  It was.  Tony pulled back with a little sigh, cradling Steve’s face with both his hands now.  “It’s going to be okay now,” he swore.  “I’m here.  I’m going to get you through this.  I promise, Steve.  You don’t have to be scared.  I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Steve’s hands shook, and they were too weak to do much, but he managed to clutch Tony’s shirt.  He heaved a sob into Tony’s shoulder, and Tony pulled him in tight, rubbing his fingers through Steve’s short hair.  “You’re alright,” Tony promised, kissing Steve’s sweaty temple.  “You’re alright.”

“St-stay,” Steve cried.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut.  “Not going anywhere,” he promised.  “I’m never leaving you, and I’m never letting you go again.”

* * *

The night was hard and seemingly endless.  The pain, too, went on and on.  Steve’s enhanced metabolism overcame the last vestiges of the morphine he was being given.  Tony had no idea what it felt like, to come out of cryostasis after months, to be facing muscle atrophy and crushing weakness, to deal with a brain and senses slowly coming online in fits and spurts.  And then to have the serum rushing that, pushing everything faster.  It was pretty unfathomable, but as bad as it had been and could have continued to be, it was surprisingly okay.  It was _still_ difficult and trying as hell, and the night seemed to last forever, but it would be okay.

It would be because they were together through it.  Steve finally let Tony hold him, let him take care of him.  That meant everything.  He wasn’t talking much at all beyond a word here and there, didn’t seem capable of it, but Tony didn’t push him.  He said enough.  He _knew_ Tony, knew where he was and generally what had happened, and now that he’d accepted that this was real and he was safe, he was grasping onto Tony like a thirsting man in a desert.  That was what Tony wanted, what he’d needed for the last few days: to be Steve’s anchor.

So he held him through the pain.  Spoke soft solace.  Murmured encouragement and promises.  Wiped away his tears and wrought comfort through touch for the first time in ages.  More than once the sound of his voice and his gentle presence lulled Steve to sleep, and he drifted off either in Tony’s embrace or with Tony close beside him in the chair, their hands locked together.  Tony dozed now and again, too, when Steve was peaceful.  By the time dawn came, he was exhausted, but the sun was bright and promising, and the world seemed very different.

Steve was sleeping when the nurses came to take his vitals.  Tony willed his aching, weary body out of the chair to allow them room to work.  He took a shower in the hospital room’s bathroom, lingering just a little bit to let the hot water wash away the feel of stale sweat and the aches of the long night.  All the bruises from the fight in Alaska days and days ago were fading, yellow and brown splotches all over his chest and face.  They were fading because they were healing, and he hadn’t realized how far he’d come until he took a moment to look, sweeping his hands down his chest.  _Today is a new day._   It felt like that in so many ways, and Tony took a deep breath.  _Today’s a new day, and we can go forward._

He dressed, brushed his teeth and hair, and went back out to Steve.  Steve was awake now.  Frightened blue eyes focused on Tony the second he emerged from the bathroom and tracked his every moment.  Tony could tell he wasn’t comfortable with the nurses in the room, even if these were the same ones who’d been treating him for days.  That was alright.  They were done with measuring his vital signs and logging their reports, and they were preparing to give Steve a sponge bath.  “I’ll do that,” Tony declared.

One of the nurses, a nice young man, turned to regard Tony worriedly.  “You sure, sir?  It’s not a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  The nurses hesitated a moment more before leaving.  They’d already set up all the supplies, warm, soapy water, shampoo, a couple of basins and towels.  Tony came over, rolling up the sleeves of his thermal shirt, and looked down at his husband.  “This’ll make you feel better, huh?”

Steve didn’t answer, but the tension in his form had waned considerably with the departure of the staff.  Pleased, Tony got to work.  He’d seen the nurses do this once or twice before, so he had a general idea of what to do.  He proceeded in sections, starting with Steve’s feet and legs and going upward.  He took his time, careful as he touched and wiped and massaged and rinsed.  Steve watched him silently and calmly the whole time, and for once, Tony was absolutely comforted by silence and the monotony of the monitors tracking his slow, even pulse and respiration rates.  Steve’s skin was still mottled and bruised everywhere, and the wounds from the implants weren’t entirely gone though they were reduced to splotchy, sore spots that Tony conscientiously avoided.  Even still, things were healing.  Wounds that dated back months were finally disappearing.  As Tony looked now, he realized they’d _both_ come so far.

Eventually he finished with all Steve’s limbs, lower body, and his torso, moving Steve’s body as necessary since Steve couldn’t move himself.  He finished with Steve’s hair.

There wasn’t much of it still, though Tony thought maybe it was growing in little more now that the serum was stronger again.  Tony lathered up the shampoo and scratched carefully at Steve’s scalp.  Steve was lying flat with the bed completely reclined, head braced in the special basin designed for this task, and his eyes fluttered shut.  “Good, huh?” Tony murmured.  “Not as good at it as you are.  Could have died from happiness the first time you washed my hair.  Was that after the battle in Beijing?  Feel like that was it.  I don’t know.  I suck at remembering that stuff.”

It was so subtle that Tony almost missed it, but he didn’t.  Steve’s dry lips twitched in a tiny hint of a smile.  “Ma…”  He clumsily stumbled over the word.  “Madri…poor.”

“Well, I was close.  Right continent.  More or less.”  Tony shrugged and rinsed his hair, the warm water running down into the basin.  He was extremely careful to keep it out of Steve’s face after feeling Steve stiffen a bit when some ran down into his eyes.  He kept talking to keep Steve distracted.  “We snuck off to that hotel, right?  I bought out the place.  It was right behind the temple there where we checked to make sure we were both still alive.  You know, thoroughly.  That was good.  It was an, um, _enlightening_ experience.  Religious.”

Steve’s grin was more pronounced this time, his usual, sassy smile.  Tony grinned broadly himself at seeing it.  “Let me get you dry and dressed.  Promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.  You know how rarely I can manage that.”

Mutely Steve watched him as he cleaned up the bath supplies.  Then he was grunting in obvious discomfort as Tony maneuvered him.  It took a little doing with how weak and limp Steve was and how tired Tony was.  “Putting some weight back on,” Tony said as he worked a fresh hospital gown on his patient.  “And this is and probably will be the one and only time I’m able to manhandle you in bed.  Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Again Steve grunted, and Tony looked up from settling his legs anew to see him smiling _again_.  That was huge, and the relief he felt was indescribable.  Tony leaned down to kiss him.  Steve didn’t kiss back much this time either, but, God, Tony would take and cherish whatever he could get.  “You’re going to be alright, love.  I know it.”

Steve’s smile slipped.  Tony tried not to notice as he went about inclining the bed and tucking Steve back in, telling himself all the while that it was going to be like this.  Two steps forward, one step back.  _We’ll get there._

There was a knock at the door.  The nurses came back to change the sheets.  They seemed pretty pleased that Tony had handled most of the bath himself.  Tony stayed very close while they quickly worked to finish up, reattaching the monitors and IV lines after getting Steve settled again.  Right as they left with the dirty linens, an orderly arrived, bearing a tray full of breakfast.  Tony tensed.  During the long night, he’d somewhat forgotten about the issue of Steve eating, so overwhelmed with grounding Steve through the throes of his pain and so thrilled that Steve was letting him in even this little bit.  Now…  “Thanks,” he murmured, taking the tray and carrying it to the rolling table beside the hospital bed.

The second Steve spotted the food, he got scared.  Tony could see it happen, see the color leave his face, see his jaw tighten and his muscles become tense.  He sighed as he sat on the side of the bed, tugging the rolling table closer.  “You have to eat,” he declared quietly.  “I…  I know what they did to you.”  Steve appeared to stiffen even more, and the walls were coming back up.  The distance and detachment.  Dissociation from a reality that was too difficult to reconcile with the world he’d left and too painful to face.

Tony could _see_ all that happening, and he had to stop it.  He took Steve’s left hand, brushing his thumb over his wedding ring.  “It’s alright.  I know what they did.  I know how they forced you.  You refused and fought back but they made you eat.  I know.”  Steve squeezed his eyes shut.  Tears escaped them all the same, and the modest air of confidence and comfort Tony had managed to create threatened to vanish just like that.  Tenderly Tony grasped his face again, wiping the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.  “This isn’t that, Steve.  I swear to you.  We need you to eat so you can get better.  _I_ need you to eat.  Your body’s begging you to.  The serum has to have energy to heal you.  So please.  Please try.”

Steve shook his head.  “Can’t,” he whimpered through clenched teeth.  “C-can’t!”

“Yes, you can.  We’re going to do it together.  Just like everything else.  We’re partners, and we’ll do it side by side.”  Tony kissed his forehead, lingering there, caressing Steve’s cheeks until he felt him relax a little.  Then he settled back a bit, reaching for the tray.  There was a bowl of yellow broth there, among other things.  Tony took that first, taking a spoon and a napkin as well.  The latter he spread over Steve’s chest.  Then he dipped the spoon in the warm broth.  “It’s going to be okay,” he swore, lifting the spoon carefully and moving it towards Steve’s face.  Steve watched it with terror in his eyes.  Tony tried for an encouraging smile.  “I love you.  I love you so much.  I wouldn’t lie to you.  I would _never_ lie to you, Steve.  You know that.  And you know I’d never hurt you.  Please keep trusting me.”  Tony brought the spoon a little closer before holding it a couple inches from Steve’s face.  Steve’s gaze darted from the spoon to Tony.  Tony nodded and smiled again.  “Trust me.”

Steve hesitated a moment longer, looking still between that spoon and Tony’s eyes.  Tony didn’t think this was going to work.  Christ, the damage ran so fucking deep.  He wasn’t strong enough to overcome the violation, the heinous association Steve had made between food and torture, the level of degradation and humiliation Steve had endured, the complete loss of autonomy, of free will, of his body–

But then, just as his own will was wavering and he was about to lower the spoon, Steve tentatively opened his mouth.  Tony smiled, eyes stinging, and carefully brought the spoon closer.  “Okay, love.  Okay.”  He slid the spoon into Steve’s mouth, so gingerly and carefully, but still Steve grimaced.  Maybe it was the sensation of something between his lips or the feeling of liquid on his tongue and in his throat.  Maybe it was the taste, strong and unusual after so long even as mild as it was.  Maybe the whole act of swallowing hurt or he was remembering the horrors in the lab.

Whatever it was, he didn’t fight against it.  Instead, he struggled to do as Tony asked, wincing and holding the warm broth in his mouth, before finally swallowing.  He coughed, almost gagged, his eyes filling with tears.  But he didn’t cry, and he didn’t throw up.  He kept it down, swallowing again and again.

Tony beamed.  Once again, the relief was absolutely mind-blowing.  “There you go,” he assured, trying not to sound foolishly giddy or make too big a deal even if this was utterly monumental.  “That’s it.  Here’s some more.”

Steve hesitated, still grimacing with the last spoonful, but he obediently opened his mouth again.  Tony gave him the broth, and he swallowed with less discomfort.  “Taste good?” Tony asked.  “Best damn chicken broth ever.”

Steve didn’t answer, but he kept allowing Tony to feed him.  Tony tried not to rush it, offering up each slow, even spoonful, but it was hard to stay patient.  He had Steve eating and he wanted to get as much into him as he could.  “When we get back,” he said, almost breathless with his emotions, “we’ll order all the things you love.  Thai food from the King and I.  Pizza from Marcello’s, even though I don’t like their sauce.  A freaking banquet from that Mexican place Clint likes so much.  And loads of chocolate.  I’ll buy out the damn bakery over on 42nd.  The one you love that makes the really great cannolis.  And tiramisu.  Tartufo from Volaire’s.  God, that sounds good.  Don’t you think?”

There wasn’t an answer, at least not a verbal one.  But Steve had relaxed a bit.  His hands were limp in his lap now at least, and every swallow came easier.  The bowl was more than half empty.  “And once you start eating more, we can go.  Get away from all this.  Just you and me.  How’s that sound?”

To that, Steve actually nodded.  “Home,” he whispered.

“Yeah.  Yeah, baby.”  Tony smiled and used one of the other napkins to wipe Steve’s chin.  “Home.”

“Knock knock,” came Clint’s voice behind them.  Tony turned just in time to see the archer’s eyes widen in surprise and relief.  He stood in the doorway, positively flummoxed at the scene before him.  Natasha and Thor were with him, and they, too, stopped dead in their tracks.  Clint shook his head.  “Steve…”

Steve’s eyes were wide.  He glanced among the team, watched as they came inside.  Natasha pushed past Clint, her voice hesitantly hopeful.  “He’s eating?” she asked Tony, like she couldn’t dare to be disappointed.

Tony nodded slowly, praying the others would know enough not to overwhelm Steve in these precarious first moments.  They did.  “I’ll get Bruce,” Clint declared, tone rough with emotion, and then he was gone.  Thor stayed back, awestruck and not daring to move.

Only Natasha came closer.  Her gaze was fixated on Steve.  She reached the bedside, and her eyes filled with tears.  “Steve?”

Tony looked at Steve again, terrified he’d detach.  He didn’t.  His lips trembled.  “N-Nat.”

She nodded, smiling, and reached for his hand.  Steve let her take it, let her come close, let her cup his face and kiss his brow.  “Steve, thank God!  Thank God!”

Tony backed away, pushing the cart with the food tray with him as Thor approached.  The demigod was quick to embrace Steve as well, though he was far from his normal boisterous self as he did, and Steve was trembling with the contact.  And Clint came back with Bruce.  Both of them were positively beaming.  All the sudden the room filled with happy chatter as Bruce said everything was okay and Clint whooped and went on about how he never doubted and Thor wiped at his eyes and proclaimed this to be a joyous morning.  They kept their distance, though.  Only Natasha stayed close, smiling in a way Tony had never seen before.

And Steve managed another smile for their family.  Tony could see he was uncertain, overwhelmed, scared and anxious and worried.  Every touch frightened him.  But he let them this close at least, and he’d let Tony in.  Finally, after so much heartache and hardship, he’d let Tony in.

_A new day._

Tony took Steve’s hand in his own, weaving their fingers together again, and kept believing.


	15. Chapter 15

It would be another couple of days before Steve was well enough for Tony to take him home.  Steve made slow progress.  _Slow_ progress.  He ate more and more, though it was still a struggle.  The damaging relationship between food and what he’d endured wasn’t going to be undone overnight.  Still, he was allowing Tony to feed him fairly consistently.  Tony was the only person he let feed him.  Tony was the only person he let take care of him period.  He tolerated having the team around him, but he didn’t like being left alone with them.  He had absolutely no interest in interacting with any of the hospital staff, not the doctors still monitoring his condition, not the nurses who tried to attend to his needs, not the psychiatrists and therapists who were eager to get started with his treatments.  He ignored them all, withdrew completely the second someone he didn’t know and trust came into his room.  It seemed he’d anchored onto Tony, and his entire sense of safety and security was tied to Tony’s presence right beside him.

Frankly, that was just fine.  Tony would stay right beside him as long as he needed, as long as he wanted.  Forever, if he had to, and he’d do that gladly.  It didn’t matter that he was sore and exhausted.  It didn’t matter that he hadn’t slept in a real bed or eaten a proper meal for days (weeks, really).  It didn’t matter that it was hard even to so much as use the bathroom or slip out for a second (the last time he’d tried that, Steve had gotten agitated, even with Clint and Bruce right there with him).  Tony could handle it.  He _had_ to handle it.  And he needed to be with Steve as much as Steve needed him close.  Of course the rest of the team and the medical personnel kept advising him to rest, that at least while Steve was sleeping someone else could take over.  Tony refused.  He absolutely _refused._

No one was coming near Steve ever again.  Not if he could help it.

But it wasn’t easy at all.  In fact, it was a constant battle to coax Steve into eating, into interacting, into talking even a little.  He was still far too weak to get out of bed.  The physical therapists wanted to come by and begin working with him, but the first time they tried to touch Steve, to help him move or massage his recovering muscles, Steve had a panic attack.  Some part of Tony had realized that touch was becoming a major issue for Steve, but he didn’t understand how much until that moment.  The pair of therapists didn’t seem to notice at all, coming into Steve’s hospital room with cheery smiles and enthusiastic tones to their voices and go-getter attitudes.  They didn’t notice Steve immediately stiffening, his eyes filling with terror, his breath turning fast and shallow, but Tony did.  Still, Tony didn’t think to stop them, not even when they were at the bed, touching Steve’s leg in a show of compassion and comfort.  Steve started squirming, started losing his control.

And when they pulled the blankets down and went to work massaging Steve’s calf, the tenuous hold Steve had on his composure just snapped.  “No!  N-no!  Don’t touch me!  _Don’t touch me!”_

“Captain Rogers, it’s okay.  It’s okay!”

“No!  No!”  Steve’s denials escalated to screams in no time at all, and they poured from his mouth, loud and desperate.  He slapped away the hands coming to calm and restrain him, even Tony’s.

“Steve, easy!  Easy!”  Tony tried harder to take Steve’s hands as alarms wailed and doctors and nurses came running.  Steve’s heart rate and blood pressure were through the roof.  “It’s alright!  It’s alright!”

“No!  No!  Get away! _No!_ ”  Steve’s pleas dissolved into near hysteria.  He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing _everyone_ away, struggling as much as his weak body could.  Wordlessly he wailed as the doctors tried to administer sedatives that would do nothing, as everyone stupidly crowded and loomed and tried to offer solace.  Steve was on the verge of hyperventilation, violently shaking, and Tony watched in complete horror.

Until his own composure snapped.  “Alright, everyone, get the fuck out!  Get out now!”

The group of nurses and the doctor and the therapists who’d blithely started this whole mess turned to him with wide eyes.  “Mr. Stark–”

“Out!”

With their proverbial tails tucked between their legs, everyone left.  Once they were alone, Tony heaved a little sob and went right to the bed, sitting on its side, and began the arduous task of bringing Steve back.  It took a bit of patience and promises for Steve to calm down enough to let even Tony touch him, even longer to let him hold him close.  Tony did, though, hugging him as tightly as he dared, and whispered into his hair that it was okay over and over again until Steve finally relaxed and fell asleep.

Yeah, touch was becoming a serious problem.  And it was fucking horrifying, seeing Steve this frightened of something so mundane and innocuous, to see _Captain America_ scared of people around him like this.  But this was where they were, and there was nothing to be done for it other than accepting the damage, hoping for recovery, and continuing on.

That was what Tony kept telling himself, anyway.  It was the same – _the same –_ stupid shit everyone had been telling him from the get-go, only having Steve awake and cognizant and interacting with him, even in this limited sense, made him actually believe it.  Sure, he still had his moments where he let himself cry.  When Steve drifted off (he was sleeping a ridiculous amount with how hard his body was working to heal him), Tony broke apart in the solitude of the room.  He sobbed and hurt and hated the world for doing this to them.  Hated fucking Ty Stone for being such a spiteful, sadistic monster.  Hated himself so much, for ever having anything to do with Ty to begin with when they’d been kids, for birthing all that fucking jealousy and the vendetta that had led to this.  For listening to everyone and giving up on Steve.

But he was always able to get himself back without too much trouble, like his mind and body needed the outlet, the moment to crumble and break apart completely so the rage and grief and fear could be expunged like poison.  He felt better for crying and swore to himself things would be okay.  That wasn’t like him at all, surrendering to his emotions and having faith in intangible things like hope and fate and the inherent goodness of life, but, again, this was what he had to do, so he did it.

And he kept at it.  He was absolutely stalwart and diligent.  He bathed Steve, shaved Steve, helped the nurses with every aspect of Steve’s care.  He stayed in close, physical contact.  He talked and talked and _talked_.  Babbled endlessly about the same stuff over and over again just because he was pretty sure the sound of his voice was calming to Steve.  Steve fell asleep listening to him prattle, to him read (he had JARVIS send him electronic copies of the books Steve was reading before he went missing, including the one on the Iraq War).  Steve’s overall affect was still flat and uninvolved, but Tony didn’t let that bother him (well, he didn’t let it dissuade him.  It bothered him a lot).  He kept his voice even, kept calm, fought against every inclination to let this beat them down.  Steve needed him to be strong, an anchor in this world on the other side of his captivity, and he’d be damned if he failed in that.

He’d also be damned if he let Steve slip.  Even the tiniest bit of progress was worth protecting, even if it was hardly anything measurable or transient.  Tony continually offered food.  Steve didn’t fight so much now on eating (at least when Tony was the one wielding the spoon or fork), but it was terribly difficult to _keep_ him eating once he ate a few bites.  They brought in a dietitian who insisted on yogurts and other foods loaded with probiotics to try and rebalance his digestive system, and Tony knew for a fact Steve hated yogurt, so that was generally a no-go.  In fact, most of what the person said was pointless, in Tony’s not-so-humble opinion (and not uneducated.  He’d spent hours researching nutrition after starvation, so he now knew a thing or two).  Yes, Steve’s digestive system had been through hell (like the rest of his body), and, yes, there were probably validated, well-tested methods of reintroducing food to a damaged GI tract.  But Tony didn’t want to have _any_ part of this resonate with the force-feeding, so he steered clear of foods that were white or gloppy (like yogurt) and anything that could taste like the stuff those assholes used.  He’d had JARVIS look through the researchers’ and doctors’ notes to figure out what was in that white liquid they’d forced down Steve’s throat, and it seemed to be mostly comprised of a high calorie, high fat, high protein solution.  It was impossible to guess what it might have tasted like (if Steve even tasted it at all), and Tony highly doubted those bastards would have cared about making it palatable.  The point was, he tried to avoid any association with that.

That was easier said than done.  Steve showed no preference in what he ate and warily accepted whatever Tony suggested like a man frightened of the repercussions for so much as having an opinion.  On top of that, a few minutes into eating, Steve always seemed to be stricken with nausea, though whether that was psychosomatic or a real symptom of his recovering digestive system, it was impossible to tell.  He didn’t say anything about it, but Tony could tell from the way he clenched his jaw and swallowed with even more effort and sweated, so he backed down from accepting more.  The truth was it didn’t matter why Steve lost interest.  It was another thing they had to overcome.

At least his motor skills seemed to be improving.  He had more strength in his hands and arms, more capacity to move his own body.  Getting out of bed, let alone walking, still seemed like a distant goal, but Tony was thrilled to see Steve reach for his hand and sit up a little when Tony leaned in for a hug or a kiss.  Tony caught him once or twice holding his left hand in front of his face so he could stare at his wedding ring.  It was usually with awe and relief, not with doubt or fear.  His hands trembled a lot, too, but they were much steadier than they had been a couple days go.  He also pulled his IV out twice.  The first time Tony was a little cross with him, but the second time he took it for what it was: Steve choosing something for himself.  Refusing hospital care and making an effort to escape it.  It was physical capacity coupled with greater interest in using it.  It was more and more acknowledgment of the world around him and the things and people in it.

Right after that, Tony put the IV back in.  He already had some experience with that, and one of the nurses had given him a crash course regardless since he was making it clearer and clearer that he was Steve’s principal (well, only) caregiver, so he was handling it fine.  Steve was staring silently and darkly out the window as Tony worked.  “You need to leave this in, love,” he admonished gently.  “You need the fluids.”  Steve said nothing.  Tony finished getting the port in place in Steve’s hand and went to go fiddle with the machine to make sure everything was in order.  “You want to sleep for a bit?”  No answer.  Tony sighed.  “We should have something to eat.  It’s about time.”  Still no answer.  “TV?  _Frasier?  Parks and Rec?  The Office?_   You know I hate _Downton,_ but I’ll stomach it just because I love you.”  Nothing.  Steve was particularly withdrawn today, but not in a way that heralded dissociation.  No, this seemed to be a plain, old-fashioned bad mood.  “Okay…  You want me to read a little?  The part where we stopped in _The Hobbit_ is particularly riveting.”  And nothing again.  Tony sighed.  “Come on, Steve.  What do you want?”

“Home,” Steve muttered.  “Wanna go home.  You s-said…  Said I could.”

Tony was surprised and then pleased.  He leaned over the bed, gently pulling Steve’s head against his chest and kissing it firmly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I did.”

Steve’s growing agency felt to be a major step forward, one Tony brandished in the argument with Fury, Sitwell, and Steve’s team of doctors.  He went that afternoon to convince them to release Steve to his care.  Predictably the SHIELD personnel balked at the idea.  Fury was silent, but Sitwell was his usual humorless self, and the team of doctors ranged from contemplative and concerned to downright hostile about it.  They didn’t have much of a leg to stand on.  The threat was over.  The serum had kicked into high gear and was healing Steve rapidly now.  His wounds were almost gone, steadily being replaced with new, healthy skin.  There was no sign of a lasting neurological, cardiac, or respiratory ailment.  He’d passed the neurological assessment, orienting himself to when and where and what, following directions and responding well, albeit as minimally as possible.  He was adequately meeting his caloric needs with the large number of small meals he was having during the day (that was one thing the dietitian had suggested that wasn’t totally useless.  Getting Steve’s nutrition through many smaller meals seemed to be causing far less stress than a few large ones).  Steve was, by all measurements and indications, on the road to recovery.  Considering it had taken less than two weeks for him to go from comatose and veritably on death’s door to where he was now, it was a miracle.

 _Magic in his veins._   Every time Tony thought that he felt physically ill.

At any rate, SHIELD had no right to keep Steve, especially since he’d expressed on his own a couple times that he wanted to go home.  So they had no choice but to discharge him.  Fury signed off on it.  It was against medical advice from Doctor Thayer and Doctor Miller, but Tony didn’t give a fuck.  He had the best doctors in New York City waiting at home to treat Steve if need be (if Steve would let them.  That was a total unknown, but Tony doubted it since it was so starkly obvious Steve wasn’t interested in letting _anyone_ aside from Tony and maybe the other Avengers touch him).  Doctor Madson and the rest of SHIELD’s psychiatrists and therapists would move to SHIELD HQ in Times Square and coordinate Steve’s services from there.  Natasha had vetted Madson (as had JARVIS), and on top of that he hailed from Harvard, and he seemed pretty firmly in the “Captain America should be allowed to recover wherever he damn well pleases” camp, so Tony didn’t see any pressing need to replace him.  Not yet anyway.  As much as he’d like to tell the whole world to fuck off right now, he knew in his heart this was too much for him to handle.

Which was why he let Clint fly them home and Bruce and Thor and Natasha stay with Steve during transit.  It was his own tech, his weapons too, though he wasn’t going to mention to the others that he was actually worried about someone attacking them during the flight.  It was crazy and completely irrational and nothing but stupid paranoia, but he wasn’t kidding about getting an Air Force escort (turned out Rhodey couldn’t make that happen, though he tried).  Even with all the firepower the quinjet had to offer and even surrounded by the other Avengers, Tony was still restless and hypervigilant the entire flight.  He paced from the cockpit to the back, where Steve was asleep on the stretcher.  Tony had opted to move him after he’d dozed off that afternoon, and so far he’d stayed calm and peaceful.  Natasha was right by him, not quite daring to touch him but keeping close in case Steve should so much as stir.  Bruce sat on the bench next to the stretcher, reading over the doctors’ reports and instructions but also maintaining a strict observation of Steve’s vital signs.  And Thor hovered nearby, not quite pacing like Tony but definitely dark, tense, and restless with Mjölnir tight in his hand.  He was ready to do anything to protect them.

There was no need.  Guided by Clint’s capable hands, the quinjet set down at the Tower, totally unbothered.  For all the panic Sitwell had expressed over the media firestorm, no one noticed their arrival, and the only people there on the landing pad to greet them were Pepper and Happy.  Pepper had flown back to the city the day before to make sure everything was ready, and the minute the rear ramp of the jet was down, she was rushing forward in the damp, chilly night to help them.  She grasped Tony’s arms.  “You alright?” she called over the whine of the quinjet’s engines.

“Everything ready?” Tony asked instead, not about to let down his guard.

She nodded.  “Yes.”

“Then let’s get him inside.”

The team was already preparing to do that.  Natasha draped one of the heavier quilts over Steve’s body, carefully but quickly tucking it around him.  Clint came out of the cockpit, face stern and bow in his hand.  Bruce checked over Steve once more and went to unlock the stretcher from where it was secured into the floor, but Thor and Tony were already on that, and in short order they were wheeling Steve down the ramp, Tony right at his side, the _entire_ team flanking him.  They were quiet, wary, rushing him across the landing pad and into the safety of the building.  The silence continued as they brought him further inside, past the armory and adjacent rooms, and straight to the elevator that would take them to the penthouse.  “JARVIS?” Tony prompted once the doors were closed.

“Heading up, sir.”

“Everything locked down?”

“Yes,” the AI responded.

“The building’s empty, boss,” Happy added firmly.  “No one’s getting in.”

“And you’ve got guys down there making sure?” Tony questioned.

Under other circumstances, Happy might have been affronted.  As it was, he just frowned.  “You know I do.  I’ve got people monitoring every inch of the Tower, motion and infrared scanners in place, guards walking in shifts both inside and out.  _No one’s_ getting in.”

Clint glanced at Natasha before saying, “SHIELD’s monitoring the satellite feeds around here, too.  Eye in the sky.  A _huge_ one.”  Plus Happy had tapped SI’s satellite network as well.  It amounted to constant surveillance of the Tower and a sizeable radius around it from multiple massive and powerful forces.  It should be enough.

But it wasn’t.  “What about the scans?” Tony asked.

“Already underway.  No sign of the Chameleon signature.”  JARVIS was doing a decent job at hiding just how concerned he was, but Tony could hear the disapproval in his voice.  He couldn’t give a crap if JARVIS or the others thought he was bat-shit crazy.  Steve stirred right then, and he hushed his husband quietly, laying his hand on Steve’s forehead and gently smoothing the furrows of distress there.  That calmed him, and he slipped back into a deeper slumber.  It was a minor miracle they’d come this far without him waking.  It probably had helped that last night he’d slept very poorly again, restless and miserable with what Tony thought was a combination of pain and nightmares.  Hopefully they could get him upstairs and settled into bed without the added difficulty of him noticing.

No such luck.  Steve settling was a momentary blessing, and by the time the team wheeled the stretcher through the penthouse and into their bedroom, he was coming around, squirming and shaking.  “Easy,” Tony whispered, immediately reaching for Steve’s hand.  Steve pulled away, squeezing shut eyes he’d only cracked open a second, shaking his head and struggling.  It only took second for Tony to make the connection, that it was dark and he didn’t know where he was and he was waking up to people looming over him.  All of that meant he was probably edging on a flashback or a panic attack again.  “JARVIS, lights!”

Immediately the soft illumination turned on brighter in the penthouse – _their home_ – and chased away the heavy shadows.  Everyone just stood there, horrified, until Tony gestured at them to back away from the stretcher.   He leaned over Steve, taking his hand between his own.  Steve was still too weak, so weak, that he couldn’t really pull away.  “Steve, you’re not back there.  We’re home.  This is the Tower.  Our penthouse.  Our bedroom.  Okay?”

Steve didn’t answer.  He was stiff with panic, trembling hard, refusing to relax even a bit.  Tony sighed.  “I told you about it today.  When you woke up this morning?”  And every hour on the hour after that.  _“We’re going home today, Steve.  I’m taking you home.”_   Tony had been equally giddy and terrified at the time, but right now there was only the terror like a rock in his stomach.  “Do you remember?  You wanted to come home, so we’re home now.  You don’t have to be scared.  It’s just me.  Me and Natasha and Clint and Thor.  Bruce and Pepper.  No one’s going to hurt you.”

Steve wanted none of Tony’s soft promises and gentle touches.  Worried and frustrated, Tony leaned back.  “Maybe get him into bed,” Bruce quietly suggested.

Tony wasn’t exactly pleased with the idea of doing _anything_ to Steve without him being in the right mind to parse memory from reality, but he could see Steve was too agitated to understand anything at the moment.  Perhaps showing him was truly the best course, so he nodded, and Thor pushed the stretcher the rest of the way across the room.  Pepper and Natasha rushed forward to turn down the bed, pulling the expensive sheets and duvet aside.  Steve cried out and weakly pushed Thor away as the demigod tried to pick him up.  “It is well,” Thor comforted with surprising tenderness, letting Steve get used to his touch before trying again.  “You are safe, Steve.”

“Here, Clint,” Bruce said, handing Clint Steve’s IV and catheter bags as he worked to get the IV machine that was already next to the bed set up.  Tony stared at Steve’s face where he was turned away from Thor as much as possible.  Steve’s expression was locked into a horrified grimace.  Tony ached to convince him that this was alright, but he couldn’t think to do anything other than watch as Bruce got everything together and nodded to Thor.  “Nice and easy.”

Steve scrambled at the hands around him, Bruce’s and Thor’s.  The stretcher shook as he struggled.  Tony couldn’t stand it anymore, staggering even closer to get his hands in the mix.  Maybe it’d be overwhelming, but Steve knew _his_ hands.  “It’s alright, Steve,” he swore again.  He’d keep fucking saying it until Steve believed him.  He grasped Steve’s face.  Steve’s skin was clammy with sweat, and his eyes were clenched shut.  Tony kissed his forehead.  “It’s alright.  I’m right here.  I’m here.  I’m here.”

After a moment or two of Tony whispering, holding his face, and pressing close, Steve calmed down enough for Thor to get him into a bridal carry and down onto the mattress.  Tony went with him, climbing right in beside him with his hands constantly on Steve’s face and chest.  Pepper covered them with the duvet, her blue eyes steeped in unshed tears.  Happy drew her away from the bed with a comforting arm over shoulders.

Bruce hovered worriedly.  “I’m going to just get a quick read on his vitals.”

Steve flinched.  He hadn’t stopped shaking.  “Later,” Tony softly ordered.  “Let’s just… leave him be.  Let him get settled, okay?”  Bruce frowned but nodded.  “Why don’t you guys all go for a bit?”

“Tony…” Pepper said.

“I’ll be okay,” Tony swore.  Suddenly it all seemed like too much, Steve’s fear causing his own anxiety to spike.  There were a whole bunch of those same annoying, doubtful glances, and Tony had to fight to keep his temper.  “Really.  I just need a minute alone with him.”

Thor sighed and nodded.  “Of course.”  He seemed to want to touch Steve but then thought better of it, dropping his firm hand to Tony’s shoulder instead.

“We’re ordering some pizza,” Clint offered.  “You should come eat with us.”

Tony didn’t want to hear this, not when his skin was itching with the need for privacy.  “I will, I promise.  Save me some.  I just…”

“Right,” Natasha said, taking Clint’s arm and tugging him away.  She looked concerned and doubtful, but she didn’t object or express any of her worry, and Tony was fucking grateful for that.  He didn’t have it in him to justify one more thing about any of this.

Bruce tapped at one of the tablets a second more.  Then he sighed.  “Just… call if you need us.  You know what to do?”

Tony rolled his eyes and tried to make light of it.  Otherwise he was pretty sure he’d scream at them.  “Yes, Mom.”

“You want us to stay the night?” Pepper asked after Bruce and Thor had walked to the door with the stretcher to join Clint and Natasha.  She glanced at Happy.  “We don’t mind.  We can sleep in the guest room, and then Happy’s right here if you need help moving him and I can–”

“If you want to,” he said, deciding that acquiescing to having Pepper in the penthouse was easier than fighting her on it.  He didn’t think that was a battle he’d win.  Plus it was probably smart to have someone nearby, no matter how much he wanted to think he could handle this on his own.  Steve was still on a catheter, so that shouldn’t be a problem during the night, but there could be all sorts of other issues or even emergencies, and it’d be better if someone was immediately available to help.

Everyone seemed pleased with his answer, too, which helped convince them to back off.  Pepper rubbed his shoulder.  “Let me just go get my things,” she softly said.  “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Sounds good.”

A second later, Tony and Steve were finally alone.  The quiet was… relieving and distressing all at once.  Steve was still stiff with fear beside him, breathing shallowly with his eyes squeezed shut.  He was fisting the sheets as much as he could, every muscle in his body tense.  Tony sighed.  “Steve, sweetheart, can you open your eyes?”

Steve didn’t.  It was disturbing just how fast he could fall back into the hell inside his head.  Disturbing and frustrating.  Again Tony released a long breath, struggling for some calm despite how tired and hurt he was.  This had to be overwhelming for Steve.  It was overwhelming for Tony.  This was the first time Tony had been back to the Tower since the anniversary of Steve’s would-be murder.  To him it felt like a lifetime had passed since then, and it had only been a couple weeks.  What must it feel like to Steve after a year?

 _Unimaginable._ Carefully Tony laid his hand on Steve’s chest, the flat of his palm directly over Steve’s heart.  He could feel it pounding in panic.  “Honey, listen to me.  It’s okay.  We’re home.  We’re in our bedroom, and everyone’s gone.  It’s just you and me.  I promise you, it’s just you and me.”  He rubbed in a slow, soothing motion.  “Steve, come on.  Come on.  Please relax.  Open your eyes.”

Still Steve refused.  Tony almost lost his composure.  God, couldn’t any part of this be easy?  Days of struggling with this, _weeks_ of trauma…  He closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Steve, fighting the sting of tears.  He knew what he had to do.  Every time this happened, if he could just anchor Steve onto him, onto their life together, it was usually enough to combat the panic attack and cut through the dissociation.  “I couldn’t sleep here,” he whispered into Steve’s neck. “When you were gone, I couldn’t sleep.  For months and months…  I just couldn’t do it.  Everything reminded me of you.  Everything.  I could imagine you in bed beside me, hear your voice in the silence, smell you here, feel you like you were a ghost…”  Tony bit his lip against the pain, against the memories of those endless nights where the mere thought of being in this room without Steve at his side was akin to torture.  “I ended up crashing in my workshop.  Yeah, I know how much you hated it when I passed out down there.  If it makes you feel any better, I ended up building myself a proper bedroom.”

Steve didn’t react.  Tony bit the fleshy inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.  This was miserable.  Aggravating and upsetting and _this can’t be it.  It can’t be the way he’ll be now.  I have to bring him back to me…_   “Every time I came back here, all I could see were your things.  They were just the way you left them.  They still are.  I – I never had the guts to put them away.  Maybe that was another sign that we were going to be together again.”  Tony slid his hand up slowly, brushing over Steve’s chin and stroking his stubble-covered cheek.  “Look, Steve.  Please trust me and look.”

Maybe the words hit home, just like they had before.  Maybe it was too much, the need for this to be real, the need to be home, in their bed and together as they were before Fury called that morning a year ago to deploy Captain America in order to stop a pirate attack on an oil rig.  Whatever it was, Steve gasped a tiny sob and hesitantly cracked open watery eyes.  Tony smiled.  “Look.  Your jacket over there.”  He pointed to the sitting area, to Steve’s blue jacket _still_ draped over the back of the chair.  Steve’s eyes hazily followed the direction.  “Your clothes are still in the closet.  Your things still in the bathroom.”  Steve’s life interrupted, like the moment after his death had never come.  Tony swallowed down a sob.  “And your books, the ones you were reading.  Your sketchbook.  God, I spent hours looking at your sketches.  It was hard, but I had to.  I had to see the world the way you see it.  They were – _are_ – so beautiful, Steve.  Do you want to see them?”

Steve shook his head, just a small jerk.  Tony didn’t press.  “And all your files from SHIELD,” he went on, trying to seem unbothered even though his voice cracked a little.  “Fury never came to get them, so I just left them.  Don’t take that as invitation to do any work, though.  No working.  I know you’ll be back at it way too soon, no matter what I say.  But fuck SHIELD if they think they’re sending you anywhere ever again without me.”

“Tony…”

“What, baby?”  Tony brushed his hand over Steve’s hair.  “What?”

Steve went quiet again.  He struggled.  The neurologists weren’t sure what was causing his troubles with his speech since there didn’t seem to be any damage to the language centers of his brain.  They thought the issue was psychological rather than cognitive.  Tony figured it was the same as everything else: he hadn’t talked hardly at all in a year.  Hadn’t been allowed to.  It was going to take some time for him to get that skill back, same as eating and walking.

Tony smiled encouragingly.  “Tell me.  It’s alright.”

Steve seemed like he was gathering his strength.  “Sh-shield?”

“Yeah, SHIELD.  You know, Hill and Sitwell and Fury the One-Eyed Wonder and his merry band of black ops misfits.  Those dipshits you work with sometimes.  SHIELD.”

“N-no.”

Tony didn’t get it for a second, and Steve didn’t seem capable of explaining.  He looked on the verge of breaking apart completely.  Then it clicked.  “Your shield?  You want to know if I have your shield?”  Steve closed his eyes and nodded.  Tony leaned over and kissed his forehead, thrilled.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I have it.  I found it back when the rig blew.  Just…  Can you stay here a second by yourself?  It’ll just be a second, I promise.  I’ll go get it.  That okay?”

Steve gave another small, uncertain nod, and Tony slid off the bed.  Quickly he made his way to the massive walk-in closet.  All of Steve’s clothes were still hanging there, untouched after a year.  Months ago, Tony had put Steve’s shield there against the wall.  He picked it up now for what felt like the first time in forever, sweeping his hand over the smooth surface of the disc.  Polished and buffed and repainted.  Perfect and undamaged.  He headed back out to Steve.

The second Steve’s gaze focused on the shield, his expression went blank.  Tony held it in front of himself, smiling uncertainly because he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what Steve was thinking or feeling.  His eyes were frighteningly vacant.  “Steve?” Tony called.  He came closer, standing right at the side of the bed.  “Steve?  You okay?”

Steve raised his left hand, the one with the IV lines in it.  He could hardly get it more than a foot off the bed, and it shook terribly, but Tony took it and lifted it more so he could get his reaching fingers to the shield.  Steve swept them down, almost exploring the perfectly smooth vibranium even though he knew the shield inside and out, until his palm was over the star.  He swallowed shakily and when he blinked, his eyes filled with tears.  Tony’s worry made the room spin around him.  “Steve?”

“Never…”  Steve swallowed, blinked again and again, and tears ran down his face.  “Never thought I’d…  Never thought…”

“You never thought you’d see it again?” Tony softly finished.  Steve nodded.  Tony smiled.  “Well, here it is.  Here you are.  You’re home.”

“Home,” Steve whispered.  He finally looked around more fully, and recognition filled his eyes.  “You…  You’re home.”

Tony didn’t know if he meant Tony was with him at home or if Tony himself _was_ his home.  It didn’t matter.  He set the shield to the end of the bed and climbed in beside Steve again.  Carefully he leaned over him, and carefully he gathered Steve’s hands on his stomach, weaving their fingers together anew.  And carefully, so very gently, he kissed Steve’s lips.  The kiss tasted like tears, both of their tears, and Steve slowly started to relax beneath him.  “We’re home,” Tony said after moment.  “We’re home and we’re safe.”

Steve nodded again and closed his eyes.  He still looked a little pale and doubtful.  “Okay.”

“And we’re going to get you better.  He didn’t take anything from you, Steve, nothing that you can’t get back.  It’s all still here.  You can be Captain America again.”  Tony smiled.  “I know it.”

Steve’s eyes darted down to his shield on the foot of the bed and then he struggled and twisted and turned as much as he could, nuzzling into Tony.  Tony wrapped his arms around him and settled onto his side.  “Shh, love,” he hushed, holding Steve close, rubbing a hand down Steve’s back as Steve breathed through soft sobs.  Clumsily he floundered to pull the duvet up over them both again, not letting go of Steve for a second.  The shield clattered to the floor, striking the carpet with a dull hum, but Tony didn’t care.  He was finally – _finally_ – holding Steve as he’d wanted to for days and days, as he’d dreamed for a year.  As he had countless nights before all of this had happened, in their bed right here at home, safe and alone.  This was one more time with a thousand times just like it behind them.  Their life together.

They could get it _all_ back.  Tony knew they could.

* * *

The next morning, the nurses and doctors came early.  Unsurprisingly, Steve didn’t want anything to do with them.  It was enough to adjust to being home without the scrutiny of strangers making everything harder.  So they never got much beyond the threshold of their penthouse, despite their complaints that they’d been hired to take care of Steve and they couldn’t do their jobs without access to him.  Tony had JARVIS throw them out.  He couldn’t throw out Pepper, on the other hand, so she came into their bedroom a little later with a cart full of breakfast food.  She frowned in concern at seeing them.  “How are you doing?  Tony, you look terrible.”

Tony groaned, standing from the side of the bed.  He hadn’t left Steve much at all during the night, and he felt stale and gross with sweat, eyes crusty and mouth putrid.  Pepper looked so pretty and refreshed, in a pink blouse and jeans, and he was still wearing the same underwear and shirt that he had been for the last two days.  “Steve, I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

Immediately Steve’s eyes widened from where he was laying at Tony’s side.  He reached out a hand for Tony, grabbing frantically at his arm before he was even standing all the way.  Tony sighed softly, sitting right back down.  “Pepper’s right here,” he assured, “and she’s just going to sit with you, okay?  Just for a bit.  We’ll eat when I get out of the shower.  And I’ll hurry.”

The thought of Tony leaving was obviously terrifying, even if it was just for a few minutes and even with the bright light of a new day streaming in through the windows and chasing away the shadows of another difficult night.  Tony watched the fear settle deep in Steve’s eyes, banishing the small measure of peace they’d achieved after another bout of nightmares that had kept them both awake.  Just that, seeing Steve afraid again, was enough to quash any need to not feel shitty.  “Alright, love.  I’ll stay.”  He raised their joined hands to kiss Steve’s knuckles.  “I’ll stay.  But we’re eating.”

Steve nodded unhappily but let go of Tony’s arm, which allowed Tony to shuffle away to find a clean pair of pajama pants at least.  Every muscle in his body protested, joints popping and things twinging all over, and he groaned miserably.  He was less than graceful about snatching the pants from his dresser and even clumsier getting them on, hopping and stumbling in his haste to get back to Steve’s side.  Pepper stood to the side and helplessly observed.  She didn’t look pleased at all at his sorry state and undoubtedly horrific appearance, and she frowned even more when Tony stubbed his toe on the California king’s platform on his way back.  “Ow!  Goddamn it!  Fucking bullshit…”

“Tony,” Pepper said, taking his arm.  “Go get cleaned up.  Take your shower.  Let me sit with him.  You’ve been with him 24/7 for days.  You need a break.  Don’t think I didn’t notice that you never came out to eat with us last night.”

Tony growled, rubbing his throbbing big toe for a moment before sitting back on the side of the bed.  “I’m fine,” he sternly declared.  He took Steve’s hand again, rubbing with surprising tenderness given how low and hurt he was.  “I can handle it.  Can you bring the tray over?”

He didn’t look at Pepper, but he could feel her staring at them.  The strength of her concern was almost a physical thing slamming into his back.  He didn’t need that, not that or her admonishment or an _I told you so_ that was certainly warranted.  She just did as he asked, bringing the cart with the food closer.  “Here.”  She took off the hot plate covers.

Tony looked over the tray, finding every possible breakfast food imaginable with the constraint of a soft diet, and took the bowl of oatmeal first.  It was white and gloppy, which didn’t meet his criteria of not looking like the stuff Ty’s people had used to force-feed Steve, but it smelled strongly like maple sugar and cinnamon.  Tasted like it, too, as he tried it himself to make sure it wasn’t too hot.  Tony set the bowl down to get Steve better situated.  “Here, babe,” he said, coming to the head of the bed to get the pillows piled and fluffed up.  Pepper rushed to help him, but the second she touched Steve even the slightest bit, Steve went rigid.  Tony bit his tongue.  The urge to yell at her for being so stupid – _he doesn’t like to be touched!_ – was sudden and kind of frightening, because he _knew_ Pepper would never, ever hurt either of them.  Fuck, it was hard to stay calm. 

She looked at him like she’d sensed his anger anyway, her eyes mired in surprise and hurt.   “You’re putting the concept of a mother hen to shame,” she joked, but that was a front for how bothered she was, and they both knew it.

“Yeah, well, can you blame me?”  He spread a napkin over Steve’s chest and took the bowl again.  Steve was watching them with wide, wary eyes.  Tony didn’t like that one bit, the guarded expression of fear on Steve’s face.  He knew what it was, what it had been all night.  He’d thought and thought about it, and there was really only one conclusion.  Steve was _still_ fighting to convince himself that _this_ was real, that Tony was really there, that he was really safe.  It wasn’t an all or none thing, like a switch had been flipped inside him and he was grounded in reality.  It was a process like everything else about this was, and Tony was terrified the smallest hint of _anything_ upsetting would send Steve tumbling back inside himself, like last night or the dozens of times before that.  He was terrified one of these times he wouldn’t be able to bring him back out of it.  “Come on, love,” he coaxed, shoving his anxieties and getting some oatmeal on the spoon.

It always took a bit to get Steve interested in eating.  He never seemed to have much appetite.  Well, Tony didn’t think that was necessarily true.  He was pretty sure Steve was hungry now, at least more than he had been when he’d first woken up, but the mental aversion to food always beat out any physiological inclination to eat.  Thankfully Steve didn’t much refuse this morning, opening his mouth to let Tony spoon in the oatmeal.  Steve wrinkled his nose as he worked it around his mouth.  “Yeah, not my favorite, either,” Tony commented.  “Always smells way better than it tastes.”  He came back with another spoonful.

Pepper smiled encouragingly at Steve.  “Whatever you want, just tell us,” she offered.  “I’ll get it for you.  Well, within reason.”  Her grin turned sweetly teasing.  “Don’t think it’d be good to have you devour an entire banquet like you and Thor did that one time.  I swear, feeding you two requires the operating budget of a small country.  Or that other time – what was it?  Three years ago? – when I came back from Malibu to find my entire supply of imported Belgian chocolate ice cream gone.”

Steve actually blushed.  He swallowed.  “Was…  Was good.  S-sorry.”

“That was my fault,” Tony said, heart soaring at this meager yet _normal_ exchange of conversation.  “I keyed him in on it and didn’t tell him it was yours.  And I forgot to restock.”

Pepper lightly whapped him upside the head.  “You think I didn’t know that?  Steve has way too many manners to steal a lady’s ice cream.”  She reached over to put a straw into a cup of apple juice. 

It was hardly anything at all, but Steve gave a tiny smile.  Pepper seemed encouraged by that, coming closer.  Tony took it from her before she could offer the cup and brought it to Steve so that he could drink.  That soured the little touch of normalcy right away.

Pepper stepped back, sighing softly.  “Doctor Madson’s called twice this morning.  He wants to know when he and his team can come.”

“How about never,” Tony grumbled.

She sighed.  “And the President called last night.  And this morning.  You really need to talk to him.”

Tony wiped Steve’s mouth when he was through with the juice and went back to spooning in the oatmeal.  Experience had taught him to move quickly to get as much into Steve once he was willing.  “That’s nice,” he said dismissively, hoping the fact that he was so focused on feeding Steve would get Pepper to back off.

It didn’t, of course.  “Tony, he’s the President of the United States.  I think you should at least answer him.”

“Not now.”

“Then when?”  Tony felt more than saw Pepper glance worriedly at Steve, like she was debating the merits of talking about this in front of him.  She decided to go for it.  “It’s been more than two weeks since Alaska.  The White House hasn’t made any formal statements about what happened.  _Nobody_ is saying anything.  SHIELD has the truth locked down tight, but the media is all over the story, and they’re making things up left and right.  Wouldn’t it be better to address the issue rather than ignore it and let this mess get worse?”

Tony sighed as Steve’s eyes closed and he slumped against the pillows.  He didn’t know if his husband was simply losing his appetite or if the topic of conversation was upsetting him, but it didn’t matter.  Breakfast was coming to an end with half the bowl still full.  He reached for the plate of scrambled eggs and got some on the spoon.  “It’s not my problem.”

“People are scared and worried.”

“It shouldn’t be my job to make them feel better,” he said, unable to keep the bite from his voice.  “Since when are the loved ones of the victim–”  Steve winced and closed his eyes even tighter, turning his head away from the next spoon. “–responsible for making sure the press has the story straight and the public’s satisfied and feeling good about it?  Nobody in my place should have to do that!”

“Nobody else is married to Captain America,” Pepper gently corrected, “and nobody else is Iron Man.”

Tony got even angrier, growling in annoyance and setting the plate down on the tray louder than he meant to.  Steve jumped, and immediately Tony’s ire mixed with harsh regret.  “Sorry.  Sorry!  Hey, it’s okay,” he promised, lowering his voice and keeping it calm as he cupped Steve’s face and kissed his forehead.  “It’s nothing.  Okay?  We’ll eat more after I get you cleaned up.”  He took the napkin away, sharply looking over his shoulder at Pepper.  “Then make a public statement.”

“I think it would mean more coming from you.”

“Christ, Pepper–”

“Captain America was declared dead, and you were out every night searching for him, and now Steve’s back, and no one knows what’s happening.  The government and SHIELD no longer have any credibility.  People are scared.  They’re convinced there’s some sort of conspiracy.”

“Who says there isn’t?” Tony groused unhappily.  “If you need some sort of Avengers press conference, have one of the others run it.  Tash or Clint.  Thor.”  Pepper gave Tony a wan look.  “What?”

“First of all, no.  And secondly, even if any of them would be willing or capable of doing it, they never would without your blessing.”

Suddenly staying still was too difficult, so he stood up and started cleaning up the breakfast mess.  “Look, I don’t care what you have to do.  Say whatever you need to.  Stick my name on it.  Talk to the press.  Talk to Ellis.  It doesn’t matter.”  He walked to the bathroom, Steve’s frightened eyes tracking his every movement.  Quickly he gathered up the little kit he’d requested (and it wasn’t so little, a briefcase-sized container with toiletries, plus a little bowl) and a towel or two and headed back out to Steve’s side.  Steve was still stiff with fear, even with Pepper far on the other side of the bed and not making the slightest move to come closer.  His eyes were wordlessly pleading with Tony to hurry.

So Tony did.  “Just handle it,” he told Pepper as he set the case to the bed and went about getting the toothbrush loaded with toothpaste and some water into a cup with a straw.  “Whatever you think is best is fine with me.”

Pepper was extremely unhappy.  Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Tony knew it.  He could feel it, feel her staring at him, and again her worry was a crushing weight on his back as he fumbled to brush Steve’s teeth.  He knew it wasn’t about the damn press conference or addressing the public or taking the President’s stupid phone call.  At least, it wasn’t only about that.

It was about him doing exactly what she’d feared he do: take this all on his shoulders rather than let anyone help.  What the hell did she expect?  After all this, did she really think Steve would be okay with people touching him?  After what happened in the hospital, did she _really_ think Tony would let that happen?  Over the last few days, what JARVIS had said had really sunk into his mind, into his heart.  Steve was a rape victim, for all intents and purposes.  _That_ was how Tony felt about it, and if the others would only make that connection, they’d feel that way too and realize what touch _meant_ to Steve right now.

Steve trusted Tony.  That was all Tony needed, and he’d be damned if he violated that trust, now or ever again.

Once a couple uncomfortably long, silent minutes crawled away, Tony had Steve swishing and spitting into the bowl.  Pepper’s presence became even more demanding and unpleasant.  Tony didn’t want to be an asshole – Christ, he owed her far too much for that – but he couldn’t stand her scrutiny or her concern anymore.  “Did you want something else?”  That sounded unnecessarily mean, even if he tried to keep his tone gentle.  “Because you don’t have to stay.  I’ve got this.  And I’d appreciate it if you could handle the media circus.  You’re much better at that than I am.  Always have been and always will be.”

She was still a moment more, wary and hurting, and no matter how okay that all sounded, Tony felt like a fucking asshole for spurning her help.  For treating her like a threat, in a sense.  The world was so screwed up and upside down.  “Okay,” she finally said on a long breath.  She turned to go.

“I’ll call you in a bit,” he promised, even though he doubted he would.

“Sure, Tony.”  It was clear she doubted it, too.  Then she was gone.

Tony sighed.  He went to the bathroom and rinsed out the bowl before refilling it with tepid water.  Then he came back to the bed and took a washcloth from the kit.  “I’m a monumental asshole,” he confessed to Steve.  He set to wiping Steve’s face, figuring he probably felt as gross as Tony did.  “I know she means well.  They all mean well.  But I just feel…  I don’t know what I feel.  Can’t let them in.  Too torqued up.”  He shook his head.  “This whole fucking thing is way more than you being kidnapped, and nobody gets that.  Nobody understand what this was like.  I’m tired of people thinking it’s simple or that it’s over.  If she wants to get up and make some statement about Captain America coming back from the dead to make everyone feel better, let her.”

Steve grunted, watching Tony with narrowed eyes.  “N-not dead,” he said.

Tony raised his gaze from where he’d been focusing on washing Steve’s hand.  “I know.”

Steve blinked and then looked away.  There was nothing but bitterness in his voice.  “Never was.”

Tony sighed, closing his aching eyes.  “I know.”

* * *

A couple hours later, the physical therapists arrived.  This went over about as well as the nurses and doctors had, only they didn’t give up so easily.  “Mr. Stark, you’re paying us to help treat his muscle degeneration.  Rebuild his strength and motor skills.”  The young woman shook her head.  “You _hired_ us to rehabilitate him.  We can’t do that if we can’t touch him.”

Tony stood his ground, and his ground was pretty firmly between Steve in the bed and the three PT specialists.  At least he’d managed to get himself dressed (mostly) and his teeth brushed and face washed, so he didn’t look like a complete fucking loon, even if he was acting like one.  Some part of him recognized that this was absolutely irrational, stupid, _insane,_ because he did hire these people.  He’d vetted them and hired them and forced them to sign NDAs and had them living in the Tower, and they were just trying to do their jobs.

However, that was days ago, before he’d realized how stupid that idea had been.  “Just tell me what to do,” he said.  “I can do it.  Show me.”

She seemed long-suffering, which Tony thought was premature considering she’d only been there a few minutes.  But, then, maybe she’d talked to the nurses he’d thrown out before.  Or Doctor Madson who called not long ago and who Tony brushed off.  Or basically anyone who’d tried to have any contact with Steve of which Tony hadn’t strictly approved (and that list was narrowing and narrowing).  In that case, her irritation wasn’t so unwarranted.  “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, you’re an expert inventor and an Avenger and a millionaire–”

“Billionaire,” Tony corrected coolly, not liking where this was going at all.  “ _Billionaire._   With a B.”

Surprisingly, she wasn’t daunted.  She sighed again.  “My point is that Captain Rogers needs expert care in _therapy,_ which doesn’t fall under any of your skillsets and which we’re here to provide.  Now we don’t mind you helping us at all.  We don’t mind showing you the ropes.  In fact, you should be educated in the sorts of exercises he needs to be doing so you can help him–”

The door to the bedroom suddenly opened.  Steve jerked in surprise behind Tony.  Tony was pretty shocked himself to see Clint and Natasha there, though he didn’t quite know why.  “You guys, out,” Clint said, standing aside to let Natasha pass him and to not so subtly indicate where the therapists needed to go.  The three specialists glanced among each other, also alarmed at the sudden appearance of the other Avengers.  “We can handle this.  And it’s not a reflection at all of you.  I’m sure you’re every bit as awesome as you say.”  The one talking to Tony scowled.  Clint gave a placating smile.  “I mean that.  And, uh, Mr. Stark will still pay you to consult.  Good?”

The therapists looked at one another a moment more, but they didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  They worked for Tony, and Tony was for all intents and purposes giving them the day off with pay, so logic (and the three Avengers very clearly closing ranks around Captain America) dictated they take it.  So they did, gathering their bags of supplies before leaving.

Natasha had already gone to the side of the bed, but now she was drawing down the duvet to expose Steve’s lower body.  Steve stiffened, fearful eyes tracking her hands as she reached for his right leg.  Tony practically lurched.  “He doesn’t–”

“I get not wanting strangers,” Natasha said.  Gently, she lowered her palm to Steve’s leg, touching him like one might touch a wounded and frightened animal.  Steve was helpless, his wide gaze firmly on her fingers where they were resting on the cotton of the hospital pajama pants he was still wearing.  Tony had to fight not to charge forward and get her hands off him.  “But we’re not strangers.”  She didn’t do anything more than rest her hand there, rest it and watch the fear in Steve’s eyes and wait patiently for it to dissipate.  “And we want to help.”

“Nat’s got some experience in PT,” Clint declared, watching Steve with a wince on his face.  “Well, enough to get started anyway.  Since you opted to hire a bunch of people you apparently have no interest in using.”  Tony bristled, but before he could defend himself, Clint raised his hands in surrender.  “Hey, man, we get it.  Like Nat said, no strangers.”

“Let us help, Tony,” Natasha softly implored.  Her eyes were unguarded.  She wasn’t doing much to hide her pain or her need to do something to ameliorate it.  “Please.  It’s the only thing we can do to make it right.”

Tony just stared at her for a moment, too wrapped up in how far he’d quickly slipped into totally irrational paranoia to answer.  God, did he _really_ think the rest of the team would hurt Steve?  That their touch would upset him?  That he was doing Steve any favors at all by keeping him away from the rest of their friends, his _family,_ the people who loved him and who he loved in return?

As if affirming that, Steve shook his head.  He swallowed thickly.  He still seemed uncomfortable with Natasha’s touch, but he wasn’t trying to move away so much.  And he was actually trying to make her feel better.  “Not…”  He licked his lips.  “Not your fault.”

Adamantly she shook her head.  “Yes, it was.  It absolutely was.”  Tony wondered then how many minutes she’d spent at Steve’s bedside back at the hospital when he hadn’t been there, holding Steve’s hand while he slept and begging forgiveness from a comatose body.  The image was pretty upsetting.  “You have no idea–”  Her voice broke and she looked down at where she had her hand on the warm flesh, the _substance_ , of Steve’s body.  After all this time and all this pain and grief…  “You have no idea how much it is.”

“Steve, we ran the op with you,” Clint said softly.  The facetiousness from moments before was gone like it had never been there.  “We let you go down there alone.”

It was hard to tell how much Steve understood.  How much he remembered.  He had moments like now where his demeanor was so damn flat, where he seemed emotionless, and for a few seconds, Tony thought he’d shut down again, that the mention of his abduction was too much for him.  But he finally nodded.  “Not your fault,” he said again, his voice soft and rough.  He closed his eyes, seeming so very tired and burdened.  “N-not anyone’s fault.”

That was said with certainty.  Certainty, but no peace or acceptance.  Still, none of them argued with him.  None of them had the courage to.  Natasha reached down into the bedding and found Steve’s hand.  She took it gently.  “Can I help you?” she asked.  “Will you let me?  Let us?”

Steve was stiff.  Tony thought he seemed terrified again, and that was almost enough to have him kicking the others out of their bedroom no matter how painful and rude and counterproductive and totally fucking _insane_ that was.  Again, though, Steve nodded, a small jerk of his head against the pillows.

The relief on Natasha’s face was unfathomable, but she clamped down hard against it and went to work.  She was quick to shed her jacket, quick to pull the bedding aside.  “Tony?”  Tony rushed to help her, and together they got Steve laying flatter.  “We’ll get you back on your feet in no time,” she promised.  “Getting through the pain in the beginning is hard, but I think if we can just get started, the serum will help rebuild your muscles and bones faster.”

“We have the power, we can rebuild him?” Clint quipped with a small smile.  He now stood at the foot of the bed.

Natasha smiled encouragingly.  “Something like that.  You want to start down or up?”

Steve swallowed uncomfortably again.  Tony could see him bracing himself against what he realized was coming.  “Down,” he eventually gritted out.

Natasha nodded, moving down the bed.  Her small hands were agile and quick as she started massaging Steve’s muscles, first at his bare right foot before making her way up his leg.  Tony watched carefully, both so he could learn and so he could make sure Steve wasn’t too panicked or in too much pain.  She did seem to know what she was doing, working on his calf and then his thigh in a deep massage, taking her time.  When she seemed satisfied after numerous minutes, she moved back down and took Steve’s foot.  “Okay, ready?”

After just that, Steve was already sweating.  His brow was creased with pain, and he looked paler.  Still, he nodded, not opening his eyes.  Tony took his hand just as Natasha started to lift his right leg, bending it at the knee and pushing it up.  Steve’s grip immediately became firmer, just a shadow of his normal strength, but enough for Tony to know it hurt.  The need to protect him butted up against common sense again, and he had to bite down an order for her to stop.  She shouldn’t stop.  This had to happen for Steve to get better, for him to walk again after months of muscle degeneration and atrophy.

“Easy,” Natasha softly said, repeating the flexion of the muscles.  “Take a breath, Steve.  Nice, slow breaths.”

Steve struggled with that for a second.  Helplessly Tony watched, squeezing his hand and rubbing his arm.  “Come on,” he coaxed.  “Breathe, babe.”

Still Steve floundered, shaking like crazy.  It seemed impossible that something so simple as lifting and bending his leg could be this agonizing and difficult, but there they were, and a part of Tony wanted to scream.  All he did was wait, though, and Natasha waited for Steve to calm down too, rubbing more gently at his muscles around his knee.  “We’ll get you through this.  And we’ll work at whatever pace you feel comfortable,” she promised.

“What she means is she’s gonna ride your ass as hard.  As hard as you ride ours,” Clint said with a knowing, disarming smile.  “Whip you into shape like you do to us all the time.  Payback’s a bitch.”  Steve heaved a little sob that could have _maybe_ been mixed with a touch of a rueful laugh.  “Like Nat said, you’ll be back out with us in no time.  Captain America right where he should be.”

Steve squirmed unhappily in the sheets.  “Hey, let’s not rush this,” Tony said.  “It’s going to take time.  Keep expectations within reason and all that.”  It was fucking ironic that he was saying the same useless, frustrating shit that everyone else had told him for days.  The words didn’t taste good.  “Everyone needs to take it easy.”

“Bruce is coming in a little bit with a wheelchair,” Natasha declared, starting the leg exercises again.  Tony wasn’t sure if she ignored him on purpose, if she was too driven by the need to do something to heed him.  Steve groaned, clenching Tony’s hand again and fisting the sheets.  “We’ll take you down to the gym.  We’ve got everything set up there.  He thinks it’d be good for you to stand a little today.  Maybe get in the pool and try some gentle swimming.  With our help, of course.  Everything with help.  We’ll help you every step of the way.”

 _Jesus._   Tony shook his head.  “Don’t you guys think that’s a little fast?”

“Tony, can I talk with you?  Outside,” Clint said.  Suddenly Tony felt like he’d been summoned by his teacher to the hallway for doing something wrong.  He hesitated, first because what the actual fuck, and second because he didn’t want to leave Steve when he was struggling and in pain.  All their talk of moving forward today had raised his hackles, and he wasn’t about to let them push Steve when he wasn’t ready (yeah, it was all too easy to forget the crap he’d told himself mere minutes ago that this was Steve’s team and friends, their family, and they wouldn’t dream of hurting him).

Steve looked scared.  He let go of Tony’s hand, though, and that was enough to get Tony walking.  He followed Clint outside the bedroom, leaving his husband panting and sweating through the pain and Natasha murmuring solace as she started on the other leg.  Pissed off, he closed the door behind him.  “Alright, what the hell?”

Clint sighed.  “Look, it’s not my place to say anything–”

“But you’re going to say it anyway.  Just like everyone does.  And just like you did months ago when I was searching for Steve and even after I told you not to.  And if I tell you not to now, you’ll ignore me just like you did then, right, because I’m too fucked up with grief and whatever else to think for myself, so fine.  Go ahead and say your bit.”

Clint’s eyes flashed a little.  He looked exhausted, and Tony was struck anew at how much the team was suffering with all this and how little he was noticing it.  “Steve’s scared shitless of everyone.  We’ve noticed.  And it makes sense.  Christ, of course it does.  Those fuckers…  We can’t even imagine what it must have been like with them touching him and doing awful shit to him and–”  Clint stopped himself and took a breath.  “They violated him in ways we can’t understand.  And we all get that.  But, Jesus, Tony, Nat’s right.  We’re not strangers.  We’re not the enemy here.”

“I know that!” Tony hissed.

“Pepper told us what happened this morning.”  _Oh, fuck you._   “You can’t handle this by yourself.”

“Yes, I can.”

“ _No_ , you can’t.  It’s not good for you.  It’s not good for him.  The more you throw the rest of us out, the more you reinforce to him that _your_ hands are the only safe ones.”  Tony looked away sharply, shame burning on his cheeks.  Clint grasped his shoulder.  “Hey, it’s alright.  If it was me in your place, and someone I loved was hurt like Steve has been… I don’t know if I could even keep it together.  And I’d sure as hell want to take that person as far away from everyone and everything else as I could.  I get it.”

Tony bit his lip until it hurt, fighting against the quivering of his chin and the tears building in his eyes again.  God, he was so sick and tired of crying.  He kept thinking that, but he kept fucking doing it.  “I can’t relax.  I can’t convince myself it’s over.  I told him it is, keep promising him it is, but I can’t believe it.  I can’t.”

Clint nodded sympathetically.  “I know.  It is over, though.  He’s safe here with us.  You made sure of it.  _We_ made sure of it.”

Tony stared blankly at the closed bedroom door, shaking his head.  “I can’t believe that.  I just can’t.”

“Would it help if I told you the forensics teams finally located some of Stone’s remains?”  Tony’s gaze shot to him.  Clint nodded.  “Yeah.  I came to tell you.  Hill called me this morning and they were able to isolate Stone’s DNA from the ashes where the jet exploded.”

Beyond being shocked out of his mind, Tony didn’t know what to think or how to feel.  “It’s been more than two weeks.  Why now?”

“Apparently they had a difficult time getting a sample of Stone’s DNA for comparison.  ViaStone and the Stone estate fought them on it tooth and nail.  Maria didn’t want to mention anything until they could say something conclusive.”  _Fucking SHIELD._   Clint must have sensed his disdain.  “Hey, I think that’s bullshit, too.  At this point, they don’t have any right to keep anything from you.  But…”  He sighed again.  “This is a good thing, right? He’s dead.”

“How much DNA did they find?” Tony asked, not believing that for a second.

“I don’t know,” Clint admitted.  “Enough to draw that conclusion but definitely not enough to be absolutely sure.”

Tony grunted.  “Yeah, SHIELD’s cornered the fucking market on making assumptions of death.”

Clint frowned.  “Tony–”

“I’m not going to be sure until I _see_ it, Clint.  And that’s that.”

Clint stared at him, and Tony was sure for a second or two that he’d argue with him about it.  But he just nodded.  He pulled Tony closer, hugged him in a way that started out awkward but got better as Tony relaxed into it.  “It’s okay.  Steve’s strong.  He’ll beat this, you know?”

“I know,” Tony murmured into Clint’s shoulder.  He let himself linger in the comfort of someone else taking care of him for a moment or two, of someone else looking after Steve just for a second.  When he opened his eyes, he saw Bruce and Thor approaching.

Thor was pushing a wheelchair, which looked all kinds of weird, and Bruce was juggling about four or five tablets, his phone, and drink tray full of coffees from the swanky shop just down the street.  Bruce had gone out to get them coffee.  Crazy.  “You okay?” he asked.

Finding Tony hugging Clint was probably equally unusual as seeing Thor with the wheelchair.  Tony pulled away, sniffling and wiping at his eyes and pissed off at himself.  “Yeah!  Yeah, I’m fine.  What’s that for?”

“To take Steve down to the gymnasium,” Thor proudly announced.

Apparently he’d forgotten already that Natasha had just said that.  His brain was malfunctioning.  A year of mourning and two weeks of utter hell could do that to a person, even one as smart as him.  “I don’t…  I mean…”  He’d already made the argument about this being too soon.  Even he wasn’t convinced by it.

“He needs to start moving around.  He’s been conscious for more than four days now.  The serum’s already begun to rebuild his muscle mass.  He’s eating enough that I feel confident he’s physically ready.  Emotionally…  The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be.  Plus I’d like to get him off the catheter and IV.”  Bruce sighed.  “He needs to feel capable, Tony.  This whole thing has got to be maddening for him.”

It was.  It was maddening for them all.  But the thing was, if Tony wasn’t on board with Steve taking this important figurative (and literal, he supposed) step forward, Steve wouldn’t do it.  So he had to control his own fear and paranoia.  “Yeah,” he said after a beat.  “Okay.”

They headed back into the bedroom.  Natasha was standing next to the bed, offering Steve a bottle of water with a straw in it.  Steve was refusing it.  He was pale as a ghost, dripping with perspiration, and quivering, though Tony didn’t know if that was from fear, pain, or exhaustion.  Probably it was all three.  For a split second, Tony thought it’d be better if he stayed back and let the others take care of it.

Fuck that.  “Here,” he said, his voice tense and bothered as he reached for the water bottle.  He took it none too carefully from Natasha, pushing his way to Steve’s side.  He helped guide the straw into Steve’s mouth, steadying the water bottle when Steve tried to take it.  “Easy.  Easy.”  The team hovered at the end of the bed, and Tony stood there, letting Steve drink and trying to gather his composure.  Finally he swallowed down his fear and spoke.  “We’re going to take you downstairs for a little while.  Like Tash said.  Okay?”

Steve pulled off the straw mid-suck, so some of it ended up on his chest.  “Tony?”  Obviously he’d been thinking Tony would get him out of this.  “N-no.”

Tony couldn’t let himself be weak or swayed.  Not with the team pushing him.  Not with common sense pushing him, too.  “It’s going to be fine,” he promised.  “Okay?  Trust me.”

Bruce came to the side of the bed.  “Steve, I’m going to get you off all these annoying tubes and things, okay?  No IV.  No catheter.  You’ll be a free man.”  He smiled.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  “No.  Please.”  It was like last night all over again, like the times in the hospital.  The sight of people crowding the bed, of hands coming toward him, of anyone touching him… 

“It’s alright,” Tony said, grasping Steve’s fingers and squeezing.  “No one’s going to hurt you.  No one.  You’re home and you’re safe.  You’re safe, Steve.”

Once again, the psychological response was completely trumping rational thought.  Steve was teetering on the edge of a flashback and only submitting because he couldn’t fight.  Tony could see it as Bruce went to work, treating the whole thing like a band-aid they needed to rip off quickly.  He got the IV out of Steve’s hand and took care of the catheter.  Natasha, Clint, and Thor stepped out for that.  They came back after Bruce had finished up and Tony had Steve dressed in clean pajamas.

Thor came closer with his hands held in front of him, clearly in a nonthreatening show.  Steve tensed and squirmed with renewed energy.  The sight of it broke Tony’s heart all over again.  “Steve, please,” Thor said.  “You know I will not hurt you.  Please allow me to help you.  I will only help you move.”

Steve didn’t answer, very clearly terrified.  He hadn’t relaxed once through all of this.  Thor frowned sadly but lifted him out the bed all the same and lowered him into the wheelchair.  The demigod lingered there, hands on Steve’s shoulders in case he crumpled.  Steve didn’t, though.  Clint came over with a blanket, tucking it across Steve’s lap.  “We got you, Cap,” the archer softly swore.  “We got you.”

“You can do this, Steve,” Bruce declared.  “The serum will help you.  We’ll help you.  I promise you.”

“You’re alright.”  Natasha crouched in front of him, folding her hands into his.  “Trust us, Steve.  You’re alright.”

Tony wasn’t sure he could or would.  Lost up in his trauma as he was, Steve seemed incapable of it.  This was pointless, so fucking painful, and Steve wasn’t ready, and Tony couldn’t let it go on.

Then Steve cracked open his eyes.  He sought Tony’s gaze over Natasha’s shoulder, anchoring himself with nothing more than a couple blinks and a long breath.  When he was ready (and that didn’t take long at all, considering how close he’d come to a panic attack), he turned back to Natasha.  “Okay,” he whispered.

Natasha smiled.  “Okay.  Let’s go.”

* * *

All in all, Steve’s first day home turned out to be a success.  He made tremendous progress.  The physical improvements were obvious.  Natasha and the rest of the team worked with him most the day, cycling between different forms of physical therapy.  They worked until Steve was too tired or too discouraged, which was strange to see.  Tony couldn’t recall Steve _ever_ being discouraged, not once in their years of being together or the time they knew each other before that.  Steve had an endless supply of energy, grit, and determination, always had if you believed the legends about Captain America (and Tony damn well believed them).  Now, though…  Well, it was strange.  He wasn’t _engaged_ in what they were doing, despite that brief show of calm in the beginning.  He exhibited no sense of joy or relief whenever he accomplished anything no matter how the team cheered him on.  He only seemed to be doing this because he was being told to.  When he became disheartened with his failings, he muscled on, but again, only because he was told to.  No grit or determination.  That was disturbing.

At any rate, when he ran out of steam, the team helped Tony get him back upstairs to eat and nap.  That resulted in three sessions of sorts, the first in the morning which ended with Steve still in the wheelchair but with a far greater range of motion in both his legs and arms.  The second had come after lunch.  Tony, with Bruce at his side, had first really pushed Steve to eat to replenish himself after all that work.  There Thor had been highly attentive and instrumental as the team worked to get Steve standing, bearing most of Steve’s weight once he was upright and remaining ever-present and ready to catch him should he fall.  Steve’s core strength was coming back in leaps and bounds, but he could still only manage to remain on his feet for a brief period, first seconds and then minutes as he practiced and sweated and worked hard.  It would take a normal person days and days of struggle to get this far, to reclaim enough strength and muscle tone to stand after months of degeneration.

But Steve was no normal man, and the serum was speeding this along fast, so much so that after dinner he was on the verge of taking his first steps.

Steve grunted as he roughly grabbed the sturdy hand rails for support.  Natasha and the physical therapists had set the room up with the proper equipment while Steve had eaten, and now there were the rails and mats for aiding in relearning to walk.  Natasha herself stood in front of Steve, Thor behind him, Clint on one side and Tony on the other.  No one was touching him.  The hand rails were rattling, Steve gripping them like his life depended on it to support his weight.  His legs were trembling, too, threatening to buckle, and if they did, all of them would catch him.

They didn’t, though.  Steve stood there, breathing heavily, head dropped between his shoulders and back hunched with effort.  Sweat dripped off nose and chin from the exertion of just holding him up.  He was flushed red, clearly overexerted and emotionally and physically spent.  Like so many times today, Tony could only stand there and watch.  God, he wanted to swoop in and make this better, but he couldn’t.  He shouldn’t.  He didn’t stay silent, though.  “You want to quit?  You don’t have to do this.”

Beneath the pain and exhaustion, Steve’s eyes were almost blank.  There was no pride, no energy, nothing that reminded Tony at all of Steve’s fire.  He’d seen Steve fight through incredible circumstances, and not just the hell of what he’d endured at Ty’s hands.  Steve had led the team against dismal odds, fought through waves of invaders and through countless difficult battles.  He’d stood down some of the world’s worst villains.  There was _nothing_ of Captain America’s strength now, just an empty husk of a man fighting for something in which he didn’t seem invested.

Tony shook his head.  “Steve, you don’t have to do this,” he said again.  “You’re tired.  It’s late.”  It was, and they were all tired.  It had been a hell of a long day.

Steve didn’t answer.  He just stood there, bearing most of his weight on his arms.  Clint finally dared to touch him, wrapping his hand around Steve’s bicep.  The fact that that was a bit of a struggle for him was comforting, that there was enough muscle there now to make more of a challenge.  “Steve, maybe Tony’s right,” the archer said.  “You’ve done plenty today.”

“D–don’t touch me,” Steve hissed, and Clint immediately let him go.  He glanced at Tony, worry thick in his narrowed gaze. 

Tony didn’t really pay him any mind.  He was focused only on Steve.  “Okay, come on.  You can do it.”  How many times had he said that today as Steve had struggled through exercises and light swimming and muscle massages?  How many times had he said it the last couple days?  He was like a fucking broken record.  This really was too much, and he was torn between just wanting it over and wanting so desperately for Steve to succeed, to have him have something huge to show for all his hard work.  They’d accomplished so much today, considering the morning had begun with Steve trapped in their bed and terrified of being home.  Now they were here with him comfortable (or at least tolerant again) of having the team around him and with him having regained mobility enough to be on the verge of walking.  It was remarkable.

 _Magic in his veins._   That thought still made Tony so fucking _sick_.  “Just take a step,” he coaxed, trying to keep his voice level.  “You can do it.”

Steve grunted, uncertain.  Natasha had been working with Steve the entire time, guiding him, helping him shuffle his feet in his first halting attempts at steps.  Obviously she was in constant contact with the physical therapists, tapping at her phone and relaying information to them.  She was keeping her distance to see what he could do probably at their instruction, but she seemed uncertain, too.  “Nice and easy,” she reminded.  “Right foot first.”

Steve grunted again and gritted his teeth, lips pulled back in a grimace of effort.  Another couple endless seconds were spent with him hesitating.  Then he moved his right foot forward.  It was hardly a step, barely an inch, but Tony could see him working to shift his weight, trying to retrain his muscles in such a simple act.  “There you go,” Clint encouraged.  Steve winced, stalling in his movements, clearly trying to figure out how to balance himself while moving his hands forward to compensate.

“Take your time,” Thor gently advised.  “You have the strength to persevere.  And you will not fall.  We will catch you.”

Steve heaved a little, miserable sob, so goddamn spent yet unwilling to quit.  Tony still couldn’t tell what he was thinking.  He hadn’t been able to tell for days, but right now it felt worse.  “Come on, love.  Another step.”

With a grunt, Steve finally managed to shift his arms and grip the bars further down.  He took another slow, clumsy step.  And another.  Tony forgot his dismay, watching his husband get himself back one small step at a time.  The mood in the room, which had sunk considerably as fatigue and frustration had begun to claim them all, immediately lightened as Steve walked the distance of the mats.

Clint was smiling, moving down the other side of the rail alongside Steve.  “Dude, you’re killing it!” he said with a laugh.  “Keep going.”

“Indeed!”  Thor beamed.  “This is a triumph!”

Tony went around to the end of the short walkway to be there right in front of Steve.  His heart was pounding, and all his dread and doubt from seconds before utterly blasted away by joy.  His moods were going up and down like a goddamn yo-yo today.  Right then, with Steve nearly to him, walking under _his own power_ , he didn’t give a crap in the slightest.  This felt monumental.  “Come on!” he coaxed, grinning like crazy.  “Just another step.”

Steve took it, but that was all he could do.  His knees finally buckled, his hands slipping from the bars, and he toppled into Tony’s arms.  The others cheered before jumping to help, though Tony was alright without it.  Even though he’d regained quite a bit of weight, Steve was still a far cry from how big and heavy he’d been before he’d been kidnapped.  Tony got his arms around him, rubbing his hand down Steve’s sweat-soaked back.  Thor grasped Steve’s shoulders, and Natasha and Clint were crowding, eager to show their excitement and express congratulations too, but Steve just stiffened at all the attention and clenched Tony tighter.  He choked on a breath.

This wasn’t going to be the triumph it should be.  Tony’s spirits plummeted.  “Easy,” he said.  “Easy.  Just…  Hold on, guys, okay?”

The rest of the team was worried and crestfallen, but this was one time where Tony was putting his foot down, and they backed off.  Steve was bottling up some serious emotions; Tony knew he was sobbing, even if he was being very quiet about it.  It wasn’t happy weeping, either.  “Steve?”

“No more,” Steve whimpered between shaky breaths.  “C-can’t.  Please don’t.  D-don’t make me.”

Just like that, all the euphoria was gone.  “Alright, sweetheart.  Alright.”  Tony hushed him, angry and horrified and so goddamn tired of it all.  He rubbed his back harder.  “It’s okay.  No one’s forcing you to do anything.  No one’s going to hurt you.  You know that, right?”  Steve didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself.  His fingers pressed harder into Tony’s back.  Tony sighed softly.  “Alright.”

Thor stepped further away, letting Tony bear all of Steve’s weight.  Tony tipped his head toward the wheelchair where it had been left to the side, and the demigod went to retrieve it.  Natasha and Clint were quiet, troubled, and there was shame in Natasha’s eyes, as if she blamed herself for pushing too hard and too far.  The irrational part of Tony wasn’t sure it wasn’t their fault.  Christ, this whole thing…  One step forward was immediately met with a step backward.  The serum was healing Steve’s body at an unimaginable rate, but his mind…

They’d all said that would require compassion and patience.  Tony didn’t know if that would be enough.

“Let’s go up to bed, huh?”  Tony kissed Steve’s sweaty hair.  “You’ve done enough for today.”

It took a little bit of doing to get Steve to let go of Tony enough for them to get him situated anew in the wheelchair.  It was almost as if he’d held himself together all day with everyone talking to him and touching him and acting like nothing happened, and now he was simply out of the energy to keep up the façade.  They took Steve back up to the penthouse.  Pepper was there with dinner, but Tony immediately waved her off from behind Steve’s chair so that she wouldn’t make a big deal about anything (or touch Steve really).  There was a frown on her face before she managed a smile, offering again to spend the night in the guest room in their penthouse.  This time Tony flat-out (but politely, which was pretty damn shocking considering how raw he felt) refused.  She smiled sadly, bid them a goodnight, and reluctantly left with the rest of the team.

Alone in the bedroom, Tony went around to the front of the chair.  He knelt there, gathering Steve’s clammy hands in his own.  “You okay?” he asked, staring worriedly at Steve’s haggard face.  Steve didn’t respond, at least nothing beyond closing his eyes.  Tony sighed.  “Listen, love, this isn’t…  You’re not…”  Tony didn’t know what to say.  He was starting to get the impression Steve didn’t know what he was thinking and feeling, either.  It was sadly becoming more and more obvious Steve wasn’t wholly convinced that he was safe or that any of this was real.  Or both.  Tony knew from what he’d endured after Afghanistan that it could take a long time for the body and senses to catch up with facts, that responses engrained into a person through trauma and torture very much outlasted the experiences that caused them.  “You’re safe here.  I’ll keep saying it as often as you need me to.  You’re safe, and you don’t have to do anything.  You have choices, Steve.”

Steve bit his lower lip hard.  He looked ready to cry, despite all he’d accomplished today.  “Have to…”  He looked lost.  “Have to eat.”

Tony reached up and gently stopped Steve from mauling his lip with his teeth.  It was something of a nervous habit Steve had always had, and the last couple days it was so much worse.  “Yes, but not because we’re trying to hurt you or use you.  You need to eat for you, not for anyone else.  And you need to walk again for you.  And talk again _for you._   And be yourself again when you’re ready.  You decide how hard you work and when you want to try.”

Briefly Steve looked at him before giving a tiny, pained jerk of his head that might have been a nod.  Tony cradled his face.  “Talk to me.  Tell me what you’re thinking.  Tell me what you want.”

Steve turned away.  “Ever’thin’s so damn…”  Angry tears flooded his eyes.  “Wrong.  Frustratin’.”  He shook his head.  “Humiliatin’.”

Tony nodded.  He understood, even if he knew logically there was no reason for Steve to feel that way.  He stood and walked over to the tray.  “You want to eat a little bit?  There’s some mashed potatoes here.  You love mashed potatoes.”  Steve shook his head, staring morosely at the floor.  “Want to sleep?”  Steve didn’t respond to that at all, even though he was clearly exhausted.  Tony sighed, trying to think.  “Want a bath?”

That made Steve perk up the tiniest bit.  “C-can’t…  Can’t walk.”

“I’ll carry you.”  Steve was with it enough to give him a deadpan glare.  Tony laughed a little.  “What?  You don’t think I can?”

“T-Tony…”

“You’re married to me,” Tony said, grinning as a plan fell into place.  He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone.  “And being married to me has its perks, like the fact I have a suit of armor perfectly capable of transporting you to and from a bathtub.  Now how about you eat some of these potatoes and some of the turkey and drink some of this milk and then we’ll take a bath.  A real bath, babe.  A nice hot one.  Together.  Just you and me.”

It didn’t seem like Steve would agree for a second, as low and close as he seemed to utter defeat, but he nodded.  Tony finished the command to summon Iron Man before putting his phone away and wheeling Steve over to the little seating area where Pepper had left the food cart.  Tony placed the napkin on Steve’s lap and went for the plate, taking the cover off to reveal a watered-down version of a Thanksgiving dinner.  He sat across from Steve on the ottoman and dipped the spoon in the potatoes, scooping some of the fluffy white stuff up and getting some gravy on top of it.  “Ready?”

Steve wasn’t.  Instead, he was reaching up with his right hand, his right hand that was quivering like mad, clearly going for the spoon in Tony’s hand.  It took Tony’s exhausted brain a second to realize what he was doing.  “You want to try?”

Again, there wasn’t much of that steely determination for which Captain America was known.  Steve nodded all the same, and Tony exhaled slowly, hoping he didn’t seem as doubtful as he felt.  This would be much faster and easier if he did it, and they didn’t have to cram so much recovery into one day.  Still, he couldn’t deny Steve anything, especially not this tiny amount of autonomy.  He handed Steve the spoon.

It was a mess.  Steve’s hand was really shaking.  Maybe if he hadn’t already been exhausted, it would have gone better.  Thankfully most of the potatoes stayed on the spoon as it wobbled and jerked its way toward Steve’s mouth.  He ate that and then clumsily scooped some more up from the plate Tony held in front of him.  This time a chunk of it ended up on the napkin, and Steve grunted in frustration.  He didn’t give up, though.  Tony watched him struggle, helping only when absolutely necessary.  Jesus, it was fucking devastating to see the man he loved reduced to this.  The whole day, the whole fucking _week_ so far since Steve had woken up…  He blinked back his tears and smiled encouragingly.  “Kicking ass and taking names.  I’ll cut up some meat for you.”

After the turkey was sliced into small portions, Steve traded the spoon in for a fork.  This was harder because the meat slipped off and spearing it with the prongs required coordination Steve didn’t seem to possess, so his efforts were met with less success.  More and more frustrated, Steve grunted and pushed the tray away.  He was battling tears again.  “No, baby.  It’s alright.  Let me help.”  Tony didn’t take over.  He just took the fork and put it back into Steve’s fingers and steadied his hand instead.  That seemed to do the trick, and slowly Steve ate the turkey and the rest of the potatoes.  He drank the milk, too, and a glass of water.  He seemed more willing now, probably because he was trying to prove to himself that he could feed himself.  Tony didn’t care why.  He was just pleased as hell to see the plate empty.

Tony started to clean up.  He was hungry himself, but he’d eat later after he got Steve to sleep.  He stood and put the dirty plate and utensils on the cart.  Just as he was about to check his phone again, he heard a creak behind them.  Shock jolted him, and he whipped around to look.

There was nothing there, nothing but the bedroom exactly as it had been.  The cleaning staff had been by that afternoon after Steve’s last nap, taking care of the mess that had accrued during the day, so everything was pristine and perfect.  The perfectly made bed and perfectly vacuumed carpets and everything just in its place.  There was _nothing_ there.  Nothing and no one.  _No one._

But he asked before he could stop himself.  “Did you hear that?”  Steve stared up at him silently and in confusion, but his eyes widened, and Tony realized he was being a fucking idiot.  “Never mind.  It’s nothing.  I’m just jumpy from not enough sleep.”  He shook himself more awake and dismissed the fear that still had his skin tingling and heart booming in his ears.  “Ready?”

With the sudden worry fading, Steve hazily watched him with tired eyes.  He nodded.  Tony brought Iron Man in from where it was just outside the bedroom and let the suit enfold his body.  He left the helmet off, standing over Steve in the armor and praying Steve wouldn’t be spooked, not by this or his stupid behavior moments ago.

Steve wasn’t.  His lips parted in what Tony imagined to be a hint of awe, like he’d forgotten how Tony looked in the armor.  “Tony,” he whispered.  He raised a trembling hand, sliding his fingers carefully over the glow of the arc reactor in the front of the suit.  “Never thought I’d…”  He trailed off, blinking a few tears loose.  “Didn’t think I’d see this again.  Not this either.”

The armor whirred softly as Tony grasped Steve’s hand, lifting it to kiss his knuckles.  “Trust me?”

Steve stared a second more, and Tony stared back patiently, rubbing the gauntlet’s thumb with shocking gentleness over Steve’s hand.  Eventually there was a final nod, and Tony crouched to work one arm under Steve’s thighs and the other around his shoulders.  He lifted Steve bridal style.  The suit made it simple, would have done that even before Steve had lost so much weight, and Tony felt strong and useful carrying him like this.

They walked into the bathroom.  “JARVIS, lights,” Tony quietly commanded.  “And can you run the bath?”

“Of course, sir.”

Immediately the lights turned on brightly and the soft sound of the water splashing into the massive tub filled the space.  Tony set Steve down on the closed toilet and started undressing him.  He peeled off the sweaty socks, t-shirt, and pants, pulling off Steve’s boxers with them.  Steve shivered.  Even though the bathroom was warm and getting warmer with the tub filling, he was naked and chilled with the sweat on his skin.  Tony moved faster, grabbing a bunch of towels from the closet aside from the bed.  He wrapped one of the bath sheets around Steve’s chest and arms to keep him warmer.  “Up?”  He helped Steve stand.  “Do you need to…”

Steve nodded, and Tony helped him, getting the toilet seat up and taking Steve’s weight while holding the towel so that Steve could focus on the task at hand.  Again Steve’s hands were shaking so bad it was a challenge.  He gasped a broken, frustrated sob.  “Goddamn it,” he hissed again.  “Humiliatin’.”

“Nope,” said Tony, and he helped steady him more.  “Just part of it.  You’d do it for me.”  Steve said nothing, swallowing and shaking, and Tony kissed his shoulder.  “You’re okay.”  When Steve was through, Tony flushed the toilet.  Steve sagged against him, so Tony dispensed with trying to help him walk and just carried him again.  As they made their way over to the tub, though, they passed the vanity.  Steve’s sharply drawn breath from where his head was tucked into Iron Man’s shoulder made Tony stop abruptly.  He turned and immediately realized what was upsetting.

Steve could see his own reflection.  It was right there in the huge mirror above the granite double vanity.  The second Tony saw the horror on Steve’s face, his own heart plunged in misery.  This was the first time Steve had seen himself since he’d been kidnapped.  The first time he’d witnessed just how much damage had been done to him.  He didn’t know, but he looked so much better now than he had.  The injuries from the implants and the surgical wounds were red splotches rather than angry openings in his skin.  The other older injuries were practically gone, and the new bruises from where he’d had the IV in his hand were already fading.  He was still extremely thin, yes, but he’d regained a noticeable amount of muscle mass to the point where it wasn’t so disturbing.  His ribs were no longer grotesquely visible, nor were his other bones jutting out from beneath emaciated flesh.  His body was a far cry from the one he’d had before, a shadow still of Captain America’s physique and constitution, but he was so much _better_.

  Steve only saw his hollow eyes ringed in darkness, though, and his pale skin and gaunt face and shorn hair.  He didn’t see the improvement.  “God,” he whispered, eyes welling with tears anew.  “Look…  Look at…”  He swallowed thickly and turned away.

“Look at you,” Tony finished for him.  “Look at how strong you are and how brave you are and how hard you fought.”

Steve shook his head.  “N-no.  Couldn’t st-stop him.”

“You lived.  That’s all that matters,” Tony said.  He pressed another kiss into Steve’s hair.  “You’re beautiful, Steve.  He couldn’t change that.  He couldn’t touch the things inside you that make you beautiful.  Your heart and your soul.”  Steve didn’t seem convinced, but Tony didn’t belabor the point.  “Come on,” he whispered, kissing his head again before carrying him to the tub.

Once there, he carefully lowered Steve’s body into the water, making sure first that it wasn’t too hot and that Steve was capable of remaining upright.  Then he quickly slipped out of the armor and stripped off his own clothes.  Placing the towels on the rack right beside the tub, he reached for one of the bath fragrances, the one he knew Steve loved.  Sandalwood.  Then he took the shampoo and a couple washcloths and carefully climbed in, too.

It took a little maneuvering, but in no time at all, he was leaning back against the side of the tub on the little ledge below the water with Steve between his legs and Steve’s back to his chest.  The bathroom was silent save for little splashes of water and their own breathing.  Tony squirted some of the shampoo into his palm and started working it into Steve’s hair.  Steve relaxed in fits and spurts before succumbing completely to his fatigue and the comfort of the hot water and Tony’s arms.  “Worlds better than a sponge bath, isn’t it?” Tony murmured, scratching lightly at Steve’s scalp.

Steve groaned and shivered just a bit but settled down again.  Tony worked body wash over him with the washcloth, being extra careful but thorough, wiping away stale sweat and soothing sore muscles.  When he was through, he rinsed Steve’s hair, washing the suds away into the water.  Steve closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the warm air and pleasant, familiar scents, and Tony smiled to see him truly comfortable for the first time in ages.  His body went completely lax in the water, the pain and tension melting away, and he sighed longer and with less reserve, sinking down into Tony’s embrace.

Tony wrapped an arm across Steve’s shoulders, enclosing him between his thighs and running the washcloth lazily up and down his chest.  “I can’t believe this,” he whispered after a long while.  Even as quiet as it was, his voice felt thunderous in the tranquility.  He blinked away sweat and bathwater and tears.  “I can’t believe we’re here like this.  I can’t believe…”  His voice broke.  _Your shield.  My armor._ “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.  God, Steve.  We’ll be okay now, won’t we?  We’ll be okay.”

Steve turned a little, just enough for Tony to cup his cheek.  Their mouths met, timidly and lightly as their kisses had been.  This time, though, as Tony’s lips slid over Steve’s, Steve kissed him back.  For the first time, he kissed back, and he kissed harder, kissed with growing comfort and certainty and familiarity, opening his mouth to Tony.  Tony took, gently, carefully, soaring inside and losing himself in the feel of it, the things he’d truly forgotten.  The way Steve tasted and how warm and inviting he was.  The way he felt.  The sense of purpose and completion.  Everything they’d lost and now had back.  _Home._

Minutes slipped away.  They kissed and kissed, Steve protected in Tony’s arms, cradled by his body.  They kissed until Steve’s eyes were drooping and he was falling asleep.  Tony knew he should get him out of the bath.  The water was getting cool, and Steve needed to be dry and comfortable in bed.  But he was exhausted, so he lingered.  He lingered with his lips brushing against Steve’s as Steve breathed, as they both did, and closed his own eyes and tried to relax.

He couldn’t.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Just a quick warning on the next couple of chapters. Tony is slipping down the slope to total craziness again, so be advised of his less than healthy behaviors here and there. Also, he really starts to question if Ty raped Steve. I'll remind everyone that he didn't, but Tony doesn't know that, so there's some discussion of rape and its impact on Tony and Steve's relationship.
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony came awake with a start.  His eyes popped open, and before he knew what was happening, he was leaning up in bed from where he was spooned around Steve’s back.  His heart was thundering, the pale light of the arc reactor blinding as he glanced around their bedroom.  The brightness made everything else seem blacker, so Tony could barely see, barely hear over his own pounding pulse and shallow breathing.

There was a soft rustle somewhere in the shadows.

_What was that?_

His eyes widened, the last vestiges of a light sleep dashed by a spike of panic.  Too terrified to move, he stayed very still and looked and listened.  His eyes adjusted to the pitch, and he saw the outline of plush chairs of the seating area.  Their dressers.  The long swoops of the curtains.  The door to the hallway and the one to the bathroom and walk-in closet.  Steve’s shield by the door to the closet.  Their clothes from the night before.  All their things, just as they should be.  There was nothing else, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing wrong.

But there it was.  Another soft swish.  _Christ, what_ is _that?_

Scared, he looked down at Steve.  He was soundly asleep, laying on his side with his left arm under the pillows.  He was dressed in a thermal long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, and he looked peaceful and unbothered.  Unaware of the world around him.  Unaware of _anything._

There came the sound again, and Tony almost choked on his breath.  Carefully he slid from the bed, pulling the duvet up after him to keep Steve warm and hopefully undisturbed.  On the verge of hysteria, he rolled over to the nightstand for his phone.  This was crazy.  JARVIS would have sensed something if there was anything in the room.  JARVIS would have woken him, woken them.  JARVIS would have–

His phone wouldn’t turn on.  It was _dead._

A voice hissed in his ear.  Ty’s voice.  “Did you _really_ think I’d let you take him back?”

Tony whirled and saw a shadow – a _man_ – looming over the bed, looming over Steve, invisible hands pushing Steve down, muffling his cries, _taking him_ , and Tony screamed–

–and woke up for real this time, pulling away from Steve’s warm back and lurching up with a choked off cry.  The bedroom wasn’t all that dark.  The low, gentle illumination from the lamps and recessed lights blanketed everything, keeping the night away tonight as it had every night since they’d started sleeping with the lights on, and he could see immediately that they were alone.  There was no one else, nothing out of place.  Nothing wrong.

And Steve was still in bed beside him, breathing slowly and evenly, deeply asleep and completely safe.

Even after seeing that, Tony scrambled to turn on his phone.  He always slept with it now, and thankfully it was still in his hand where his arm was under his pillow.  The pale light from the screen (and the from the arc reactor) wasn’t so blinding with the room already somewhat lit, and he was able to see right away that there was absolutely _no_ sign of any intruders.  The screen showed nothing at all out of sorts.  All the sensors in the room, in the penthouse, in the building as a whole and on the roof, were clean.  No trace of the Chameleon signature.  No suspicious activity in the lobby or on the streets surrounding the building.  No hint of any cyberattacks, physical attacks, _any_ attack at all.

They really were alone.

But, _even with that,_ he wasn’t satisfied.  Panic pulsed through him, and he shoved the duvet and sheets aside and clumsily climbed out of bed.  The carpet was familiar under his toes, real but hardly comforting as he raced around to check the room.  The windows were intact.  The doors to the outside were locked, both the one to the balcony and the one to penthouse beyond.  The walls were untouched, as strong and firm as ever.  The bathroom and walk-in closet were empty.  And everything really was _exactly_ where it should be.  Even Steve’s shoes, which Tony had pulled off his feet last night just before they had gone to sleep, were right where he dropped them on the floor next to the bed.  He was tripping them over now.  _Nothing_ was out of place.  _Nothing_ was wrong.

That wasn’t enough.  Tony stood in the center of the room, mind and heart racing, covered in sweat and panting and eyes wide and shaking like crazy.  “Sir,” JARVIS said as quietly as possible.  “Sir, are you–”

“Are all the security systems running?” Tony demanded.

“Sir?”

“Is everything running?”

“It is 3:43 in the morning.”

How many times over the last year had he yelled at JARVIS like this?  “Just answer the fucking question!  Are they running?”

JARVIS paused.  “Yes.  Everything is operational.”

That still wasn’t good enough.  “Run a diagnostic.  Do a surface scan for now but then do a comprehensive check.”

A couple seconds went by while JARVIS worked, and Tony spent them glancing around again.  Every shadow was suspect.  _Every fucking one._   “All systems are nominal, sir.  I can detect no malfunctions.”  Tony sighed, almost deflating as the hysteria left him.  He closed his eyes, swallowed through a miserably dry throat, and rode out the fading waves of adrenaline,.  “You merely had a nightmare.”

 _Merely._   He buried his face in his hands before raking his fingers through his hair.  This didn’t fucking _feel_ like a nightmare.

“Do you wish for me to continue with the comprehensive scan?”

There was a soft call behind him.  “Tony?”

Tony turned.  Without a second of hesitation, he raced back to their bed and climbed into it.  Steve was rolling over, eyes squinting with confusion and exhaustion.  He blinked, rubbing at his face a little.  “What’sa matter?” he slurred.

“Nothing,” Tony quickly replied.  He gathered Steve into his arms and kissed his forehead.  “Everything’s fine.  Go back to sleep.”

Steve settled right back down, wrapping his arms around Tony’s torso, gracelessly throwing a leg over Tony’s thighs, and burrowing his face into Tony’s shoulder.  He went back to sleep instantly.

Tony never went to sleep back at all.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Steve came home.  During that time, he’d slowly but surely made incredible strides toward recovery.  He was undoubtedly getting better.  So much better.

But it wasn’t really that simple, when it came down it.  Physically Steve was vastly improved.  He’d gone from barely being able to support his own weight and hardly capable of more than a few steps with help, let alone a few steps unassisted, to walking on his own with only the support a cane, to walking without the cane completely.  Only days ago, he’d been unable to care for himself, requiring Tony’s aid in bathing and dressing and eating, and now he handled his own needs without much assistance at all.  And he’d been so thin, struggling with every meal, and now he was eating regularly and putting weight back on at a rapid rate to the point where he nearly looked as he had before he’d been abducted.  In addition, that vicious tremor that had plagued him was all but gone, and he was moving with much more grace and fluidity.  Much more confidence.  Physically he was nearly back to normal.

Cognitively, too, he’d made serious progress.  His halting speech had disappeared.  He was much more oriented to his surroundings, much more capable of tracking reality.  He was also far more able to reconcile what had happened to him with what was happening now.  He clearly understood where he was and how he’d come to be there.  He was grounded, sound in thinking and reasoning, able to speak and conduct himself normally.  Those horrible first days, where he’d been confused and doubting and too terrified to speak…  Those were nothing more than bad memories now, a nightmare that was fading more and more.  Doctor Madson and his team had now completely ruled out any lingering neurological damage, and furthermore they’d cleared Steve to return to everyday activity (with recommendations to avoid stress and take things slow and easy for the immediate future).

The serum was truly incredible, bringing Steve so far and so fast, returning him to the sharp, capable young man he’d been before Ty had ever taken him.  Physically, cognitively, he was all but healed.

Psychologically, however…

“Steve, you _need_ to see the psychiatrists.”

Tony slowed to a stop in the hallway outside the common room right before the open entrance.  He leaned wearily into the wall.  He didn’t need to see inside to figure out what was happening.  Bruce was there.  And Steve obviously.  And probably more of the team.  Tony closed his eyes against that and against the headache raging behind them.  The pain had been there all morning after yet _another_ night of poor sleep.  Christ, he hadn’t slept well in a year, in _more_ than a year.  And he didn’t want to hear this argument again.  It was all he’d been hearing for days, and it was enough to crush any interest in going inside for breakfast.  Steve’s curt response was in his head before his husband even spoke.  “I have been seeing them, Bruce.”

So was Bruce’s barely patient sigh.  “You know what I mean.  Doctor Madson tells me you’re not talking to him.  Not him or any of his staff.  You don’t answer their questions, at least not with anything substantive.  You don’t engage.  You silently wait out every session until it’s over.  That’s not the point of therapy.  You’re wasting their time.”

“Oh, for God’s sake…  I had a whole year of my life taken from me, and you think I should care about wasting _their_ time?  That’s a goddamn riot.”

Tony could practically see Bruce’s worried frown, the hurt in his eyes.  The Steve they’d all known and loved, who Tony had worshipped day in and out for years, would _never_ have said something like that, let alone in that tone of voice.  “I didn’t mean to imply that you should.  I’m sorry.  But, Steve…  You need to talk.  Therapy doesn’t do you any good if you don’t.”

“Would _you_ be able to talk about something like this?”

There was a beat of silence.  Then Bruce ignored that comment completely and charged onward.  “It’s not healthy to bottle everything up.  We’re all worried about you, including Madson and his team.”

“That’s nice.”  The spite in Steve’s voice wasn’t masked well.  Tony’s heart ached for the pain he knew Steve was in, the pain they were all in.  They’d all known the fallout from Steve’s abduction and rescue would be huge and difficult to overcome, but being in the middle of it granted a whole new perspective on just _how_ huge and difficult.  “Thanks for giving me your opinion.”

“Steve–”

“I appreciate it.  I really do.”  Steve’s tone was a little less agitated, like he was trying to keep his temper in check.  “But it’s not really any of your business.  Or theirs, for that matter.”

“Steve.”  That was Natasha.  Great.  Just as he’d feared, more of the team really was in there, which meant this debate could only get bigger and more miserable.  Any hopes of having a quiet, pleasant meal without the shadow of Steve’s ordeal hanging over them all for once were dying by the second.  “You wouldn’t let any of us try to hold this in like you’re doing.  You wouldn’t let us shut everyone else out.  You’re hurting yourself, and watching it…” She couldn’t finish.

Clint went on in her stead.  “We’ve all been through nasty shit at one time or another.  You know that.  You know how long it hurts, how much it does.  Each of us has buried stuff deep before out of necessity, because there weren’t friends and doctors and people we love and trust there to help us.  There are now.  Let them help you.”

“I don’t need help.”  That had been Steve’s mantra for days, ever since he’d regained enough physical capacity and mental competency to take care of himself.  How many times had he pushed Tony away with those words, warned him off of touching him or aiding him or even comforting him?  To say Steve’s mood were erratic was something of an understatement.  He wasn’t outwardly mad.  Even now, he was trying to hold his emotions inside.  He always did, growing distant or withdrawn or curt rather than expressing just how angry he was.  That was Steve through and through, _still_ hiding everything that was bothering him rather than being open and forthcoming.  That was Tony, too, for that matter.  What had Pepper said?  They liked to lick their wounds in private.

However, there was nothing private about what Madson and his team of therapists wanted.  And there was nothing private about this, about the team yet again trying to coax and convince and outright demand Steve take better care of himself, that he seek help for his bleeding spirit.  And they were right to worry.  Steve _was_ bleeding.  He was bleeding _so fucking much._   Again, he was trying to hold it in, soldiering on like he always did, but it was like a storm building beneath the surface, a tempest build of rage and terror and frustration and so much pain.  Tony didn’t know how to soothe that, how to diffuse and calm it, how to help _at all_ , and he was scared of losing Steve to it.

Of losing Steve _period_.

Bruce was talking again. “I know you’re feeling more capable, better than you have been, but you’re not thinking straight about this.  And that’s okay.  No one expects you to.  But you have to see that you–”

“I don’t have to see anything,” Steve replied, and there was an unspoken warning to his clipped tone.  “Like I said, thanks for your opinions, but they’re wrong, to be frank.  I _am_ thinking straight.  I know what I need.  I can make my own decisions.”

“Of course you can,” Thor agreed, “but–”

“Don’t.  I get it and I really do appreciate that you’re looking out for me.  But I don’t need your help.”  He said that again and with more emphasis, like the timbre and bravado of the words held actual power.  “What I need is for you guys to let this go.  I want to get back to work and back to leading the team and back to doing something worthwhile.  You want to talk about taking care of myself, about therapy?  _That’s_ what’ll help me heal.  I want to move on, and I can’t do that with everyone constantly hovering and treating me with kid gloves and acting like what happened is a big deal.  It’s not.  It’s over and I’m fine and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony closed his eyes again.  _Jesus._   He’d seen Steve slip in and out of various stages of denial over the last couple weeks, but this was complete lunacy.  This was pretending that storm wasn’t churning and twisting and getting stronger.  He knew better than anyone that this behavior wasn’t going to solve anything.  It also seemed rather hypocritical to judge when he himself was only slightly better off than Steve was with all his, well…   _Insanity_ probably wasn’t a bad word for it.  These last couple weeks had been torturous for them both, of course, but Tony’s particular torment had subtle layers to it.  It was almost as if Steve getting better had rendered him weightless, floundering, and useless, with nothing worthwhile to occupy him.  Steve not needing him so much had left his brain to its own devices, and he’d latched onto something else really quick.

Fear.  Fear and paranoia.  Doubt.  And all of that centered on the fact that he still didn’t know if Ty was truly dead.  Everybody else seemed convinced.  They’d written him off cautiously at first but with greater certainty as time went on.  Tony knew why.  He’d seen the forensics reports, having demanded them from Fury days ago (and Fury was still so guilt-ridden about Steve’s kidnapping that he didn’t put up even a token fight about releasing classified SHIELD information to a civilian).  The fact was, even with the Chameleon suit, it didn’t seem likely Ty could have survived the explosion.  The suit had been damaged by the fight with Iron Man and probably unable to summon enough energy to power the forcefields to protect Ty from the heat.  There’d also been no sign of him emerging from the fire, and there was DNA evidence on top of improbability of survival which was pretty convincing.  Again, the DNA samples SHIELD had found weren’t large enough to be absolutely sure, but it was sufficient to strongly suggest Ty had perished in the blaze.

Tony couldn’t let it go, though.  As Steve had slept during the last few days, Tony had poured over the reports, yet again trying to recreate the scene enough to understand it fully, to be certain the conclusion of death was sound.  The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was back to doing this again, only this time he vowed he wasn’t going to be fooled by the obvious but ultimately incorrect conclusion.  Not when Steve’s life yet again depended on it.  And Tony knew it did.  He fucking _knew_ if Ty was alive, he’d come for Steve again.  He wouldn’t let Tony win.  He couldn’t.

So this was slowly but surely consuming him, wrecking his sleep, rubbing his already jittery nerves raw, stealing any semblance of peace.  Basically driving him crazy.  At first, Tony had been calmer about it.  He’d been sharp and demanding and overly vigilant about security, but no one faulted him for feeling that way.  At first, he’d been able to hold himself back, to keep his own rampant worries under control.  Now he was checking the Tower’s security systems constantly.  He was going over Happy’s head to plan and direct the Stark Industries Securities forces, making sure they did their jobs with nothing less than perfection.  He was barring entry to the Tower so that anyone not previously vetted and personally okayed by him couldn’t get in.  He could have allowed JARVIS and SHIELD to handle everything, could have left it to Happy and the other Avengers, but he couldn’t trust them.  He couldn’t even trust JARVIS, not with this.  He _had_ to be the one overseeing it.  He had to make sure there were no weaknesses, no faults, no opportunities or oversights.  No one could get into the Tower to touch Steve.  _No one._

This was very quickly becoming a hell of an obsession.  His fear was bleeding into everything.  His dreams.  His hours awake.  He was hearing things (Ty’s voice and Steve’s screams and the sounds of someone following him no matter where he went) and seeing things (Ty’s smug smile and Steve in that goddamn tank and tied down and suffering and crying).  Tony was _feeling_ things.  There were times where he was so fucking _certain_ someone was there, watching him, creeping around his workshop or their bedroom or the common room.  Someone was there, _everywhere_ , following him around the Tower as he went through his day and waiting for the right moment to strike.  It was goddamn madness, and some part of him knew it was impossible.  No one could defeat his security.  No one could break into the Tower without triggering a dozen alarms, without JARVIS noticing.  _No one_ , not even someone equipped with a stealth suit.  Still, a thousand irrational fears spun in his overactive brain.  _What if he fixed the flaw and eliminated the radiation signature?  What if we can’t track him anymore?  What if he gets in, gets Steve again?  What if he’s right behind me…_

Tony had lost track of the number of times he’d thought that and whipped around only to find nothing wrong and no one there.  It was quiet, peaceful, just the team and Pepper and Happy in the Tower.  Just Steve in their bedroom, slowly sinking deeper into his own misery.  And Steve was feeding off of Tony’s barely controlled hysteria, of course.  Tony was desperately trying to act normally around him, but he knew he was failing.  Even as wrapped up as Steve was in his own turmoil, he was smart and perceptive.  He knew something was wrong no matter how many times Tony assured him everything was fine and kissed away his questions and worries.  Tony absolutely refused to mention any of his concerns about Ty.  Hell, he wasn’t mentioning Ty _period,_ and Steve had to have questions about everything, but he didn’t ask them.  That was just as well, because Tony didn’t think he had it in him to explain who Steve’s captor really was, _why_ he’d done what he’d done.  It was far easier to ignore all that and let this godawful situation fester, even if his stress was adding to Steve’s stress and vice versa in a vicious cycle and turning what should have been calm, comforting convalescence into a tense, high-strung nightmare.

And it was fine that Tony’s skin was continually crawling, that his heart was always jacked up with adrenaline, that a cold sweat so easily could break out all over his skin over the slightest hint of anything out of the ordinary.  It was fine because he was keeping Steve safe.  Doing what he had to do.  It didn’t matter that he spent every waking moment on the verge of a panic attack, and every night…

_“Did you really think I’d let you take him back?”_

The sound of Clint’s voice drew him back to the conversation in the room beyond.  “Well, we’re here if you change your mind,” he offered, though there was a lot of resignation and worry hidden beneath his gentle tone.

“Thanks.”  The next thing Tony knew, Steve was rushing out of the common room and nearly bowling him over in his desperation to get away.  Tony’s eyes popped open as he jolted from where he’d slumped against the wall in the hallway.  Steve didn’t even acknowledge him, side-stepping him once he regained his stride, and rushing to the elevator with his eyes lowered like he was afraid Tony would pounce on him, too.  Tony watched him go, so goddamn numb.  He _should_ pounce on him, should get him to talk to him, to talk to _somebody_ , because the others were right and burying his feelings wasn’t good for him.

But he didn’t.  He was too tired, too rattled, too damn _lost_ to do anything, and Steve escaped. 

Tony stayed there a moment longer, muddled and drifting, before turning and entering the room.  Unsurprisingly, the team did pounce on him.  Clint was closest to the door, probably had been closest to Steve, and the second he saw Tony, his face fractured.  “Did you hear what Steve just said?  And, Jesus, you look like shit.”

Bruce was standing by the breakfast bar, his plate full of fruit and toast clearly forgotten on the granite counter.  His brow furrowed.  “God, Tony.  Sit down.”

Tony snapped out of his daze.  “No, I’m fine,” he grumbled.

Thor looked troubled.  “Are his nightmares so severe that you cannot rest?”

Tony had to bite down the ragged chortle itching his throat at the fucking irony.  _Not his._   Steve’s weren’t the problem so much, though they were certainly bad at times.  No, the problem was he kept dreaming that Ty was there, taking his husband right from their bed, right out from under his nose, and laughing all the while.  “It’s fine.  I’m sleeping enough.”  He walked more purposefully to the kitchen.  Breakfast was there, laid out on the counters and clearly ordered from the chefs below.  It was a nice array: pancakes, bacon and sausage, eggs numerous ways, pastries and fruit.  A carafe of orange juice rested on a tray along with a pot of freshly brewed coffee.  Tony took in the spread and noticed it didn’t look too depleted.  “Did Steve eat?”

That was the question they constantly asked each other now.  Natasha sighed, reaching over to the abandoned but mostly full plate on the breakfast bar down a little bit from her.  “Not really.”

That wasn’t unexpected, particularly if the team had shown up and ganged up on him about the psychiatrists.  “I’ll make sure he does later.”

“You need to make sure he talks to Madson,” Bruce corrected.

And now they were going to gang up on the next best thing.  Tony gritted his teeth, grabbing a mug and pouring some coffee into it.  It smelled strong, which was a relief because he needed the caffeine desperately.  “Okay.”

There was a beat of silence.  Tony stared at the steam rising from his cup, feeling the eyes of the team on him.  Bruce eventually decided to prod.  “Okay, you’ll do it?  Or, okay, that’s nice.”

 _Jesus._   “Okay, I will do it,” he said sharply, annunciating it carefully.  Bruce flushed, clearly ashamed and upset and unsatisfied.  “What do you want from me?  I can’t _make_ him open up.”

“No, but he’s more likely to listen if it comes from you.  He’s done everything else you’ve asked him to do, eat and try to walk again and so on.  He’s following your lead,” Bruce explained, like that wasn’t obvious.

No matter how obvious it was, though, hearing it made Tony burn with shame.  _Following my lead._   Right.  Tony was a wellspring of model, healthy behaviors right now.  Like driving himself crazy with stupid bullshit that wasn’t real.  Like refusing to trust out of irrational paranoia.  Yeah, he was a fucking good example of how to recover from this disaster.  “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, just to get the others off his back.  Bruce looked dubious.  So did Clint and Thor, the former shaking his head and the latter frowning before going back to his meal with less gusto.  Natasha closed her eyes and turned to the daylight streaming in through the huge windows to their left.  Tony sighed.  “I will, okay?  I know it’s important.  But, you know, Steve’s right, too.  Part of what was done to him was stripping away his right to _choose_ anything.  He couldn’t talk, couldn’t control what he was forced to eat or when, couldn’t control what they put in his body and how often they did it, couldn’t escape, couldn’t fight or even move.  They took his autonomy completely, treated him like a resource.”  _An ever-living battery._   He felt sick saying all that, but he was angry enough to go on.  “And after all that, when he still wouldn’t submit, they froze him.  So lay off a little.  It’s only been a few weeks.”

Bruce flushed with irritation, but it didn’t last, because he knew Tony was right, too.  “I realize that.  And I’m not trying to make you feel bad–”

“Well, you’re fucking succeeding!” Tony snapped.

“Tony, easy,” Thor said.  “Easy.  Anger solves nothing.  This has been trying for us all.  Our suffering of course does not compare to yours or to Steve’s, but we are frustrated and fearful for you both.  You have not allowed us to help to the extent that we could.”  Tony gritted his teeth and turned away.  “I do not fault you that decision, but you must agree that Bruce’s concerns are legitimate ones.  Refusing to acknowledge pain will only do Steve ill.”

“I know,” Tony said, struggling to hold onto his temper.  This argument was a useless circle.  “And I said I’ll take care of it.  Stop nagging.”

Bruce frowned.  “I’m not trying to nag, either.  Did you know he’s been skipping therapy?  According to Madson, Steve blew it off completely on Wednesday and came late yesterday.  He also missed most of it Monday and one day last week.”  That definitely wasn’t like Steve, to ignore a responsibility and to inconvenience others.  “He needs to at least go.  He can’t talk if he doesn’t have the opportunity to.”

“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” Tony said.  “I said it before.  You can’t force him.  _I_ can’t force him.  No one can, and no one should.”

Bruce’s frown got deeper.  “I realize that,” he said again with more emphasis.  “No one should be forcing Steve to do anything.  Definitely not.  I don’t mean that, Tony.  It’s just…”

“We truly fear for him,” Thor reiterated lowly, glancing among Bruce, Natasha, and Clint.  “All of us.  And we are all helpless again, and it is not a feeling I, nor any of us, can easily tolerate.”  Tony deflated just a bit.  God, this was a fucked-up situation.  “The serum has restored his body so quickly that it is difficult not to expect similar rapid results with his spirit, and of course that is not the case.”  The demigod looked down, defeated and so very worried.  “It was foolish to believe he could come home and be the man he was, the leader I admire, the brother I have come to love.”

“He’ll be those things again,” Clint said firmly.  He dropped a comforting hand to Thor’s shoulder.  “It’s just gonna take time is all.  And Tony’s right.  Maybe he has to decide this for himself, do it on his own terms.”

Natasha still squinted at the morning sunlight.  She looked so tired.  “Maybe.  A little nudge wouldn’t hurt, though,” she said as a reminder to Tony.  She turned to him, eyes so sharp.  “You know how he handles things that bother him.”

 _The same way I do._   Tony could practically hear Pepper admonishing him again, and that only made his headache worse and his anger hotter.  “I know.”

“Actually, Madson wanted to talk to you,” Bruce declared, returning to his breakfast.  He, too, had little enthusiasm.  “He only called me because you haven’t been answering.  He’s been trying a couple of days.”

Honestly, Tony had no recollection of anyone calling.  Then again, he’d been so swept up in his security analysis and trying to stay close to Steve that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if someone had.  JARVIS had likely alerted him, and he’s simply ignored it.  “Oops,” he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.  It burned its way down his throat.

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha turned back to him and asked, “You’re not still running through the security data, are you?”

Apparently he was more transparent than he thought.  “No?” he tried, although that just sounded stupid and pathetic.

She shook her head again, reaching across the counter to grab his arm.  Her grip was firm, unshakable.  “Tony, you have to stop.”

“It’s been nearly a month with no sign of Stone,” Clint reminded, like Tony wasn’t acutely aware of that.  “He has to be dead.”  Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Clint raised his hand to stop him.  “I know.  You said it before.  You need to see it to be sure.  But you can’t.  There’s nothing to see.  SHIELD’s got every law enforcement officer from here to Fairbanks on the lookout.  The FBI is conducting a massive manhunt, probably for a dead man.  We have dozens of countries screening every border entry point for Stone.  Plus Fury’s had a worldwide face trace going for him since Alaska.  He’s using the algorithm you wrote to find Steve.  JARVIS gave it to him.”  Tony cringed.  That made him feel worse.  “There’s no sign of him anywhere.”

Thor stood, taking his empty plate to the sink.  “And even if he did not meet his demise during the fight as the evidence suggests, he _cannot_ breach the Tower.”

Tony shook his head.  “I can’t trust that.”

“You have to,” Clint insisted again.  “Tony, we’re as sure as we can be.”

“Well, that’s not fucking good enough!”  He slammed the counter with his hand before he thought better of it, and the loud slap of his palm to the granite only made his words seem angrier and even more out of control.  Natasha actually jumped in surprise.  _Black Widow_ was startled.

It went silent.  Tony felt sick.  He needed to get out of there, so he took a breath to compose himself and forced his voice to be level.  “I know you guys mean well, but you don’t have to worry.  Not about either of us.  Steve will be okay.  I’m fine.  We’re both handling it.  Working through it, okay?  It’s under control.”  He managed an undoubtedly wimpy grin that was not the least bit convincing, took his coffee cup, and walked back out of the common room.

“Famous last words,” Clint muttered.

Tony didn’t move fast enough not to hear it, and that was too much.  He turned around and surged back into the room, all of his rage back and burning powerfully.  “Okay, you know what?  Your opinions?  They’re worth shit to me.  _Absolute shit._   You know why?”  Clint paled.  He didn’t answer.  _None_ of them did, because it was obvious where this was going, and Tony had never imagined going there, never _fathomed_ saying something this mean to the people he loved like his family, but he was furious and exhausted and so damn hurt and none of this was fair.  “Because all of you told me my husband was _dead_ when he wasn’t _._   _All_ of you.  And when I said over and over again that it couldn’t be true, that there was something wrong and that there were _facts_ that contradicted it, I was told I was crazy or too grief-stricken to think or in denial.  And, lo and behold, Steve’s not dead.  Steve was kidnapped on _your_ watch, and you had the audacity to tell me to stop looking for him and let it go.  You quit on me because you didn’t believe me.  Well, I was right and all of you were wrong, and if one of you had gotten your head out of your ass long enough to listen to me, maybe _none_ of this would have happened.”

Clint looked like he had been sucker-punched.  His eyes actually welled with tears.  “Tony…”

Tony wanted to scream.  He settled for turning around and stalking away.  “So fuck all of you.  Leave me alone, and leave him alone!”

Seething, he headed quickly down the corridor toward the elevator.  Then he stopped.  Sobbed before biting down on his lip to quell it.  God, he was going crazy.  He was doing what he always did, making the same damn mistakes over and over again.  He was pushing away the people trying to help.  And he was right, and they were wrong, but, God, this wasn’t their fault.  He shouldn’t be taking it out on them.

After a few minutes, he managed to get control of himself.  He jabbed his thumb into the button to summon the lift, shifting his weight and tiredly trying to decide what to do.  He should go back there and apologize.  He really _should_ speak to Steve and make sure he ate, that he was okay.  He needed to go to his workshop, though, and check in on his own efforts to find Stone.  God, twice now he was searching for a dead man.  If he thought he’d be able to stop, he’d laugh.  As it was, he sighed and tried to keep it together.  “J, where did Steve go?”

“He is heading to the gym, sir.”

Tony grimaced.  “He’s not supposed to be down there.”  Bruce and the medical team hadn’t cleared him for any physical activity yet, strenuous or otherwise, and knowing Steve and his tendency to overexert himself, it’d be strenuous.  “He’ll wear himself out.”

“Perhaps you can convince him of that.  He has politely refused my advice.”

Of course.  Steve was politely (and at times not so politely) refusing everyone’s advice.  “Yeah, I’ll–”

Suddenly he felt it.  The air shifting behind him.  A whisper of movement.  _Someone’s here._   The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood in a rush of panic, of _vulnerability,_ and he twisted around.

The hallway was completely empty behind him.  There was nothing but dark tile, expensive carpet, and gray walls.  Tony glanced about wildly, his pulse racing and his stomach clenched into knots.  JARVIS’ voice made him gasp and jump.  “Sir, are you okay?”

The elevator beeped its arrival, and Tony jerked again, whipping back around as the doors opened.  Coffee splashed onto his fingers.  “Shit!”

“Tony?” Pepper stood there, as well as Doctor Madson.  If Tony hadn’t been scared out of his mind, he would have been pissed that she’d brought him up to the Tower’s private floors without his permission.  As it was, the best he could do was stare at them in pained resignation.

And Pepper immediately got worried.  “Are you okay?  You look…”  She frowned.  “Scared.”

Yeah, how many times had he been asked that over the last month?  How many times had he been “caught” doing something he “shouldn’t”?  It was fucking frustrating.  “I’m fine,” he declared shortly.

Madson narrowed his eyes.  “Are you sure, Mr. Stark?  You do seem flustered.” 

 _Joy of joys._   A shrink to help him analyze his feelings.  He didn’t need help with that.  He was pissed off.  Those were his feelings.  And that was a great mindset for someone who needed to convince the man he loved of the merits of therapy.  “Positive.  I take you two are here to bother me about something?”  He tried to sound casual, but it was just prickly.

Pepper looked pissed as well.  Of course, she would be.  Her patience and understanding was dwindling.  Running Stark Industries was a massive task in and of itself, a job which she’d been doing with no help from him the last month particularly during Project Greenlight’s launch, and on top of that he’d basically dumped this entire media frenzy over Steve’s kidnapping on her.  For anyone else, that wouldn’t fall into the rubric of her job responsibilities.  Steve’s situation was intimately tied to Tony’s, and Tony’s name (and actions and money and image) were intimately linked to the company, so it was never easy to separate things.  Moreover, she’d been handling Steve’s “death” and the logistics of it (the big and small parts) since it had happened.

And she clearly couldn’t (or wouldn’t) deal with it anymore.  “I take it you haven’t noticed the dozens of voicemail messages and texts I’ve sent this last week.”

He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t read them or listened to them, but he knew _exactly_ what this was about.  He didn’t want to deal with it.  So he sighed and turned on his heel and walked back down the hallway toward the common area.  “Not now, Pep.”

“Excuse me, Doctor Madson,” Pepper said before rushing after Tony.  She was always so fleet and agile, even on high heels and dressed in a tight pencil skirt, and she caught up with him in no time, falling in step right beside him like she was born to.  “You’re being ridiculously rude.”

“So are you!” Tony snapped quietly.  “No one outside the Avengers and Happy and you is supposed to be up here!”

“Oh, so you don’t want your laundry done and your food delivered and your bed turned down anymore?”  Tony flushed and looked hotly away.  Frankly, he’d been actually considering it, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to tell her.  Before they reached the common kitchen, she tugged him to the side where an empty dining room was.  Inside it was immaculate, unused in months.  He took that in, another blast of sunlight beyond the windows and the gleaming table and chairs, basically willing to look at anything except her.

Pepper wasn’t going to be put off by his attempts to ignore her.  That approach hardly worked with her on good days, and today was definitely not that.  She lowered her voice and adopted that expression she had whenever she knew she needed to convince him of something that should be obvious to anyone else but would be difficult for him to accept.  God, he’d seen that face a lot this last year.  “Tony, you need to do something about the media.”

Tony tensed.  “No, I don’t.  Not at all.”

“Having them camped out around the Tower is not exactly conducive to keeping this place secure,” she reminded, “which is obviously your number one priority.  The White House has asked me again if you intend to make a statement.  They keep asking, keep calling.  We need to respond.”

“Oh, God, not you, too.”  After what happened with the team, he couldn’t do this.  He just couldn’t.  But he couldn’t stop himself, either.  “Tell them to fuck off.”

She looked at him sternly.  “I will not tell the President and the citizens of this country to ‘fuck off’ just because they’re concerned about Steve.  The world watched us bury Steve in Arlington, and now people know that was fake, and everything’s even more of a mess than it was two weeks ago.  Nobody even knows for sure that he’s alive!  Isn’t JARVIS keeping you apprised of what the news people are saying?”  Again, probably, but he neither knew nor cared, so he didn’t answer.  She sighed again.  “People are still scared.  I told you that before, but it’s gotten worse.  Captain America’s back, but no one knows if the Avengers are still intact or not.  No one knows if Steve was sick or dying all this time and SHIELD just covered it up and lied to everyone.  No one knows if he was being used by the government, by SHIELD, if one or both of them contracted ViaStone to work on the serum, if Stark Industries was for or against this arrangement, if _you_ were party to it–”

“That’s bullshit!” Tony snarled.

Pepper stared at him.  “I know,” she declared crossly.  “That’s the whole point, Tony!  _No one_ is out there refuting these rumors or explaining anything!  The press and the public are still making stuff up left and right.  And the White House is telling me they have intel that’s disturbing them.  The bad guy scum of the world?  The terrorists and tyrants and mad scientists you guys usually stop?  They’re out there, planning things in the shadows, because they _think_ the team is down.”

“We are down,” Tony declared.  “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been down since Ty took Steve!”

“There was something before.  SHIELD and Natasha and Clint were handling things.  You helped once in a while.”

“Yeah, I’m not now, and if something happens, they can take care of it.  That’s their job.”

“Why let it happen to begin with when making a simple statement could stop it?  There’s so much chaos right now.  All we need to say is that Steve’s alive and recovering and the government and SHIELD and Stark Industries had nothing to do with what happened to him and everything is as it should be.”

Tony scowled.  “Is that what this is about?  They think our company had something to do with ViaStone?”

“I told you.   People are making up all sorts of crazy theories.  SI’s being linked to ViaStone in some circles, yes, and the board–”

“Oh, so it comes down to money.  ViaStone’s a sinking ship, and they don’t want Stark Industries pulled down, too.  Don’t want our stockholders to think we’ve been tarnished by all the shit.  Guilt by association?”  He wanted to smash something.  “Yes, my _association_ with Ty Stone drove him to kidnap my husband and torture him for a year.  There.  Happy?”

“No.  Not at all.  God, Tony, that’s not true!  Do you really think that?”  He didn’t answer.  She shook her head, horrified.  “That’s _not_ true.  Tell me you understand that.”

“Don’t–”

She grabbed his shoulders, angry.  “ _Tell me_ you know that!”

It was so hard to lie, but he managed.  The traumas he’d lived had taught him how.  “I know that.”

She stared at his eyes, trying to judge the veracity of his statement, and he kept his face stiff because he was terrified of cracking even a little under her scrutiny.  She sighed after a bit and pulled him into a hug.  “God, Tony, please…  Please don’t do this to yourself.”

 _Too late._   “I’m not.”  That was always a good lie, too.

She held him for a moment more, stroking his hair.  He could have melted, if not for the fact that she went right back to the problem at hand.  Her voice was softer now at least, a gentle force against his ear.  “It’ll be okay.  Just call everything a…  Call what happened a personal vendetta against the team.”  Tony bit his lip until he tasted blood, closing his eyes.  “No one needs to know the specifics.  We don’t need to release details.”  She leaned back and cupped his face, smiling encouragingly.  “We just need _you_ , Tony Stark, to go out there, preferably flanked by the rest of the Avengers, and tell everyone that things are okay.  That _Steve’s_ okay.”

Tony pulled away.  “He’s _not_ okay, Pep.”  Pepper’s face immediately fell from its smile, and her eyes grew misty.  “Don’t you get it?  It’s not that simple.  You can’t _make_ it that simple.  Ellis can’t, either.  It wasn’t that simple when we thought Steve was dead, and it’s definitely not now, and I’m not interested in being part of another dog and pony show for the benefit of the greater good.”

Pepper shook her head.  “If you don’t do it, the White House will.”

“Is that a threat?”  He was too fucking tired to care even if it was.

“It’s a plea, I think,” she said.  “Look, Tony, they realize this is asking a lot of you.  I agree with everything you said the last time we talked about it.  It’s not fair that you have to do this.  But…  It’s like I told you a year ago, when…  Well, when you were hurting so much after losing Steve.  Steve is yours, and you’re his, but Captain America…  Captain America belongs to the people.  He’s loved by so many.  He’s a symbol to the country, to the world.  And you’re Iron Man.  You’re Avengers.  People need to see their heroes stand tall.”

He didn’t want to hear anymore.  He already felt sick and ashamed and selfish.  “Alright, okay?  Alright.”

She gave a tentative pause.  “Really?”

At this point it felt inevitable, and he was too damn tired of fighting it, of fighting everything and everyone.  “Schedule it for tomorrow.  If I have to do this…  Yeah, tomorrow.  Let’s get it over with.”  He didn’t even know what he was saying.  “Have the others be there.  If we’re doing this, we’re doing it as a team.”

She nodded.  There was even more sadness in her eyes.  “Steve too?”

 _God.  Steve._   The thought of Steve having to face the crowds, the questions, the prying and shouting and cheering and overwhelming attention…  The thought of him _exposed_ out there.  “No, definitely not.  Just make sure I have time to talk to him first.  I don’t want him finding out some other way.”  Defeated, he plodded to the door.  He looked back at her.  “Good?”

Pepper seemed as sick and ashamed as he felt.  “I’m sorry, Tony.  I just…  I can’t deal with this anymore, either.”

“Yeah, well…  Hopefully I can find a way to explain to my husband that I need to lie to the world about him being back after lying a year ago about him being gone.”

* * *

Goddamn history was repeating itself.  That was what this was.  Tony was stuck in some sort of nightmarish loop, trapped in some creepy sense of déjà vu.  A year had gone by, and he was arguing with the team again, arguing with Pepper again.  A year had gone by, and he was still ignoring everything everyone was telling him because he _knew_ he was right.  A year had gone by, and he was searching for a dead man again.  _A year had gone by,_ and he was still obsessed and terrified and losing his mind.

Steve was still lost to him.

Tony couldn’t make himself go to him even though he knew he needed to.  He was too shaken, too upset and raw inside.  He needed a moment of solitude to compose himself.  He couldn’t help Steve if he was like this, scared of shadows and reeling from how he’d acted.  He needed some time to breathe and a small sanctuary in which he could do it.  Or a safe place to fall apart.  At this point, he wasn’t sure which would happen.

Regardless, he didn’t even make it to his workshop before someone else was bothering him.  Or the same someone.  Madson was standing right outside the sealed doors, waiting for him.  _Oh, goddamn it…  What the hell?_   “Who let you up here?” Tony demanded, definitely not in the mood for this bullshit.

Madson gave a disarming smile.  “Your AI butler?  JARVIS?”  _JARVIS, you lousy traitor._ “I told him I needed to speak with you, and he directed me here and said I should feel free to wait for you.”

Purposefully Tony strolled right past the therapist toward his workshop doors.  “Well, my AI butler has yet again forgotten his place.  Programmed him with far too many latitudes.”  Tony waited by the scanner.    Madson stood right there, rather presumptuously waiting for Tony to unlock the doors, not at all getting the hint that this was his cue to leave.  Tony decided to be blunter.  “He can see you out.”

“I really need to speak to you about Captain Rogers,” Madson said.

 _Shocking._   Tony was getting pretty tired of talking to people about Steve.  “How about we let Captain Rogers be?  And I really don’t have time right now,” Tony replied, “so off you go.”

“Mr. Stark–”

“Look, you already sicc’ed Banner on me, which was not cool, by the way.  I know what you’re going to say.  So let’s skip to the chase, alright?  Yes, I’m aware Steve’s giving you the cold shoulder during therapy.  Yes, I’m aware of how important it is that he talk about his memories and express his feelings and all that.  Yes, I will speak to him about being a good little patient and cooperating more.  _No,_ in answer to the question you’re going to ask, I’m not worried about it right now.  Not after just a few weeks, really only a handful of days since he’s been back on his feet.  Frankly, if he wants to brood or ignore it all or get away from it for a bit, that’s okay with me, and–”

“It’s okay with me, too.”

He’d been so lost up in his rant that he didn’t make sense of that for a second, squinting at the other man.  “Come again?”

Madson opened his hands in a show of acceptance.  “I agree with you whole-heartedly, Mr. Stark.  It is vitally important that Captain Rogers engage more in therapy, and if you would speak to him to that end, I’d really appreciate it.  However, I can understand his reticence.  He doesn’t know us, and after months of enduring what he did at the hands of strangers, expressing any sort of weakness to us is going to be a major challenge for him.  It also has to be extremely disorienting.  His body is telling him he’s better, so much better that he’s on the verge of returning to his regular life, but his mind is lagging far behind in terms of recovery.  I can appreciate how difficult that is.”

Tony was pretty surprised.  Then again, this wasn’t the first time he’d been impressed with Madson’s willingness to see things from Steve’s perspective.  So many of Steve’s doctors and therapists were constantly pushing him to work hard to their specifications, but Madson always seemed more in tune with Steve’s wishes.  That was really nice.  “Yeah,” he said stupidly.

Madson nodded.  “Plus, well, I don’t think I’d be violating his trust when I tell you that in the few times he has talked about his feelings during a session, he’s made it pretty clear that he feels trapped here.”

“Tr-trapped?”

The psychiatrist sensed his horror.  “That’s not an accusation _at all_ , Mr. Stark.  Not at all.  Bringing Captain Rogers here, keeping him confined to the Tower as you have…  It’s a perfectly reasonable and necessary action.”  Tony didn’t think it was on purpose, but hearing the word _confined_ made it all worse.  “He needed to be home for sure, and the amount of recovery he’s made here in your care is mind-blowing.”

“But?” Tony prodded, agitated and trying to hide it.

Madson smiled.  “But he’s said once or twice this week that he feels a little smothered.  He’s expressed a great deal of interest in returning to work.”

“I don’t think he’s ready for that,” Tony said, pretty shocked by the idea even though he knew it was brewing in the background.  “Do you?”

“No, definitely not,” Madson agreed, “but I do think there are alternatives you can consider, maybe something as simple as going out for an afternoon or even getting away for a few days.”

That didn’t process right away, either.  “You mean on a vacation?”

“If you like.  It doesn’t need to be anything extravagant.  A walk in the park could suffice or a quick trip to a favorite museum.  Captain Rogers likes art, doesn’t he?  Or baseball?”  Tony nodded dumbly.  Madson gestured around him.  “Everything here has become linked in his mind to his recovery and therefore to his abduction.  He’s having trouble facing the constant reminders.  A little time away, in a completely new environment, where he can relax and have a chance to compose himself, recharge himself maybe…  It’s not such a bad idea.  Captain Rogers’ health has definitely recovered to a point where he can be outside and be away from medical personnel, so that’s not a concern.”  The psychiatrist eyed him more critically.  “Plus you have been doing a remarkable job taking care of him, but I can see it wearing on you.  Ms. Potts agrees with me.  Some peace and quiet might do you some good as well.  A small trip may also give you two a chance to reconnect more, which I think you both desperately need.”

Tony couldn’t deny that.  Steve still seemed like a stranger to him sometimes.  It was only natural given the time they’d been apart and the fact they’d both come through this fire changed men.  Tony’s own therapist had said that (the one time she’d called and forced him to talk to her – he really should be seeing her more, but he didn’t have the time or heart.  He was such a fucking hypocrite).  But not being able to read Steve so easily as he once had, not being able to understand him so completely like he used to…  It hurt.  So, yeah, the idea of them out on a date or away on a vacation like the ones they used to take, maybe to the private island in the Caribbean or the lodge in Aspen or jetting across the sea to Europe as they did on their honeymoon…  Spending time alone, playing together, talking together, lazing together and sleeping together.  Learning each other again.  Nothing to hurt them.  No one to bother them.  No threats, no work, no SHIELD or Avengers.  No responsibilities or distractions.

It sounded like heaven.

“It’s something to think about,” Madson said, pulling Tony from his wistful thoughts.  “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.  Again, I very much appreciate you emphasizing the importance of therapy to him.  I think it will go a long way.  I also mentioned that he can write or draw his thoughts or feelings if he’d rather do that.  You should also encourage him to speak to you, if he finds the formality of our sessions daunting.”

“I have,” Tony said, not that his efforts had panned out much (or that his efforts had been all that effortful, to be honest).  “And I will.”

“And tell him I’m canceling his session for today.  We can start fresh on Monday.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”  With that, Madson headed back down the hallway to the banks of elevator.  Tony lost sight of him when he turned the corner.  Sighing in exhaustion but feeling mildly better (or at least less aggravated), he turned and let himself into his workshop.

It was quiet inside, and everything was just as he left it.  All his tools and projects (those were still in the same state they had been before he found Steve.  There was no time or motivation to work on them).  His computer terminals were idle, the holographic displays dark.  The massive holopad was open and empty, too.  The quiet seemed bizarre, and he didn’t like it at all, not that or the shadows beneath his desk or the ones over by his cabinets or the fact that it _seemed_ as if nothing was running when he knew logically all his security measures were in place.  He’d checked not more than a few minutes ago on the elevator ride down, for crying out loud.  “JARVIS,” he said, his voice a croak, “show me today’s security reports so far.”

“Sir.”  The AI hesitated.  Tony was becoming remarkably adept at gleaning what uncomfortable topic someone wanted to broach by his or her awkward silences.  “Perhaps you should not dismiss what Doctor Madson suggested outright.”

Tony went to his primary workbench.  The sensors immediately detected his approach, and the workstation came to life, glowing and humming softly.  That was more comforting than it had any right to be.  “I’m not dismissing anything, outright or otherwise.”

“But you are not taking his advice.”

Tony sighed.  “I can’t.”  He didn’t bother to explain.  It should be obvious.  Taking Steve away from the safety of the Tower?  “Show me the security reports.”

“Perhaps you should rest.  Mr. Hogan and I can–”

“Please.”

A couple seconds went by before JARVIS acquiesced.  Information gathered from the multitude of security systems, including satellite imaging and reports made by the guards walking the building its perimeter, appeared before him.  “And do we have any information on this face trace SHIELD is running?  Barton mentioned you gave them my algorithm.”

The AI was silent for a moment, as if he’d been caught red-handed and was trying to find a way to extricate himself from the situation.  “I did not think you would be upset as it would only aid in the search for evidence about Stone’s death.  Furthermore, Director Fury contacted us while Captain Rogers was newly home, and you were engrossed in his care, so–”

“I’m not mad,” Tony assured, and he wasn’t.  “I’m glad someone thought to get on that.  I just want to make sure they’re doing it right.”

“We have no access to their procedures without using unscrupulous methods.”

 _Right._   Normally that’d be an invitation to stick his fingers where they weren’t allowed and gloriously piss off the upper echelon of SHIELD’s agents in the process.  At the moment, he was too worn to even think about trying.  “Put me through to Hill then.  And get me an eye on Steve.  Constant streaming.”

Tony spent most of the next hour consulting with Hill and the SHIELD techs overseeing the analysis.  He guided them through incorporating their old face trace algorithm with his and adapting his code to their computer infrastructure.  SHIELD was able to access far more resources than he’d been able to (at least legally), so the breadth of their search power was considerable.  It felt good to help them, and Hill was surprisingly amiable and even warm about it.  He knew it was only because she (like everyone else at SHIELD) felt immensely guilty for everything, but having her be less of a frigid ice queen and more of a normal person was nice.  After he was done with them, he turned his attention to the long queue of emails and messages about the Greenlight Initiative.  He hadn’t much dealt with the project since its launch press conference and reception, and Stark Industries R&D had a plethora of technical issues, bugs, and questions for him to answer.  Pepper had obviously been trying to field the ones she could to spare him from having to deal with it, but right now it seemed like an ample distraction.

So another hour or so escaped with him working on that, though he always kept an eye on the video feed of Steve.  Thanks to the security cameras Happy had installed in basically every common area in the Tower, Tony had a pretty continuous view of Steve down in the gym.  And it was probably (okay, very) creepy and Orwellian and possessive, but he needed to know Steve was okay.

Steve was okay, for the most part.  He was in the midst of his normal morning exercise routine, but he was going slowly.  It was clear it wasn’t easy for him and that he was working himself too hard.  He was perspiring through his t-shirt, the fabric clinging to muscles that still weren’t quite what they had been before his kidnapping.  His breathing was labored, far, _far_ more so than it normally was (granted, his normal routine was probably enough to kill a normal person from overexertion, but Steve rarely even broke out in a sweat).  As he boxed with the punching bag, his footwork was sloppy, his moves lacking any of their normal grace.  He was wincing as he stretched, sluggish (well, sluggish for him) when he ran, clumsy with the jump rope.  His pull-ups were shaky, his push-ups even more so.  He was pushing himself _too_ hard, to the brink of what his still recovering body could handle.  More than once Tony thought he should go down there and stop him.

But he didn’t.  Madson’s words were resonating with him, bouncing around his head.  _Steve feels trapped._ Like he couldn’t make choices.  Like he was being smothered.  Would he really want Tony there hovering as he very clearly worked through his feelings?  There was definitely a familiar dark look on Steve’s face.  He was tired and probably sore, but he was too swept up in the physical effort and his own determination and frustration.  Tony had seen that expression before, the thin press of Steve’s lips and the clenched line of his jaw and the way his eyes were narrowed.  Back before they were together, when Steve had just come out of the ice and the team had formed, he’d often gone down to the gym to work out his troubles.  Maybe, like then, this wasn’t for the best, but it was Steve’s way of dealing with his pain, and Tony knew better than anyone how degrading it could be to have someone question your coping mechanisms.  JARVIS had an eye on his vitals and was constantly monitoring him for signs of distress, so this was fine.

Finally, after torturing himself for another hour or so, Steve hit the showers.  Tony released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and focused more on the tasks at hand, tearing through the queries from R&D.  Not long after (or maybe it was a while – he was really engrossed in debugging this power regulator algorithm for the new arc reactor), JARVIS spoke.  “Sir, perhaps you should go to him.”

Tony snapped out of his haze of concentration, and his eyes went right to the video feed on the side display of his workstation.  “What?” he gasped.  “Is he alright?”

“He is still in the shower.  It has been more than thirty minutes.”  JARVIS was clearly worried.

Tony was, too.  He blinked to focus his tired eyes, leaning closer to the feed.  There weren’t any cameras in the shower stalls themselves in the locker rooms, but he had a view of the outside.  The door was heavily fogged, like Steve had run the water as hot as it would go, so he couldn’t really perceive much beyond it.  There was a darker blob in the back of the stall, maybe.  In the corner?  “What is he doing?”

“Sitting,” JARVIS answered.

Tony’s fear spiked.  _Shit._   “I should have been watching,” he muttered.  “Did he have a panic attack?”  Rapidly he turned to start saving his work so he could go.

“No, I do not believe so.”  If Steve had, it would be only the most recent of quite a few over the past couple weeks.  They could be devastating.  “His vital signs are within normal parameters.”  That was a comfort, and Tony stopped panicking himself, slowly down and turning back the feed.  “He washed himself rather vigorously, almost violently.  Since finishing that approximately fifteen minutes ago, he has sat and not moved since.”

“Is he zoned out?”  Dissociation still seemed to come and go.  Madson had told Tony a while ago that that was normal.

“I cannot read his mind,” JARVIS reminded, and Tony gritted his teeth.  “I think you should go to him.”

Tony sighed.  God, he was tired.  “Okay, just–”

On the video feed, the shadowy blob shifted.  “Wait, sir,” JARVIS said.

Tony watched more carefully.  Sure enough, the water shut off.  The shower door opened.  Steve stepped out almost drunkenly, clutching at the door frame to steady himself.  The resolution wasn’t as high as it could be, so his face was a little blurry.  Still, the vacant look in his eyes,  the way his mouth was limply open, the way he was breathing heavily…  He was upset.  Struggling.  After a breath or two, though, he walked more steadily to get his towel.  With every second he seemed to be gathering himself, moving less clumsily, until he was drying himself off and starting to get dressed.  “He’s alright,” Tony breathed, hopeful and looking for confirmation.

“I believe so.”  JARVIS didn’t sound so sure.  “Shall I tell him to come up?  It’s nearly lunchtime.”

Tony felt like an asshole for letting this happen, for spending the morning working and leaving Steve alone.  “Yeah.  I’m just going to finish this up real quick.”

He did, putting the final touches on his changes for R&D before sending everything back to them.  Then he glanced over the security reports again, making sure nothing had changed and that everything was in order.  Before he even realized any time had passed, JARVIS was announcing, “He is right outside.”

“Thanks,” Tony said.  The opportune warning gave him a second to clear the security data away just as Steve stepped through the doors to his workshop.  Tony swiped away the last analysis and turned to his husband.

Steve looked alright.  His hair was still a little damp.  It was much longer than it had been a few weeks ago but still too short for Tony’s tastes.  Steve also hadn’t bothered with shaving the last few days (though more from depression, Tony thought, than laziness) so he had the beginnings of a beard framing his mouth and covering his jaw.  He was dressed in jeans and a button down, blue shirt that he hadn’t bothered to tuck in.  His eyes were ringed in darkness, and he still looked so goddamn pale.  That made Tony think about Madson’s recommendations again.  Steve hadn’t been exposed to sunlight for more than a couple minutes at a time in a _year_.  That only made the lingering signs of the abuse all the more prominent.

But he smiled when he saw Tony.  “Hi.  JARVIS told me you wanted me to come up?”  He glanced around, and Tony realized this was the first time he’d been in his workshop since returning home.  “Wow.  Looks different in here.”

Tony flushed in shame, sliding off his stool to join Steve as he walked to the center of the room where the massive holopad was.  “Yeah, I changed things around a bit.”

Steve turned around slowly, taking in the holoemitters.  “Did you move this from Malibu?”

“Yeah.  Well, no.  I mean, I moved this one, but I built another one back out there.  So I have two now.  This one and the one in Malibu.”  Steve quirked an eyebrow.  Tony shrugged helplessly, babbling like a moron.  “I needed this one here because I, uh…  I used it to figure out what happened to you.  I knew something was off about it, about what happened on the New Venture?  So I recreated the scene with the data I had, the forensics reports from SHIELD and the blueprints from the oil rig and the footage of you…”  He couldn’t tell Steve about the footage of his death, not about that or the long hours he’d spent watching the final moments of the explosion over and over and _over_ again.  Tony couldn’t explain the desperation to find some reason to believe that Steve was alive, couldn’t admit that the horror of Steve’s last seconds as the fire came toward him had been burned into his own heart and soul.  He couldn’t say anything more.

Which was just as well, because Steve didn’t ask.  He hadn’t asked about a damn thing, not how Tony found him, not what had happened while he’d been missing or what was happening now.  Not about Ty or who he was or why he had done what he did.  It was unnerving, how disinterested he was.  He just nodded and walked to the workbenches behind the holopad.  DUM-E and U were there, and when Steve came closer, they whirred to life, cheerful and excited as they chirped and swung their arms around him.  Steve paused, smiling fondly as he patted each of them.  DUM-E practically purred, leaning into Steve’s touch, and U rolled closer and nudged his hip for more attention.  It was heart-warming, if not a little weird.

Then Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “What happened to the couch?”

Tony’s eyes darted to the new black leather sofa he’d purchased.  “Oh.  Yeah, I…  I bought a new one.”  Steve turned back to him, and there was pain in his eyes.  Tony knew why.  That couch, as old as it was, was _Steve’s_ couch.  Tony frowned helplessly, feeling like he was navigating a minefield.  “I just couldn’t…  It was too hard.  Every time I looked at it, I saw you, and it hurt too much.”

Steve turned away, slumping just a bit and staring morosely at the fancy, expensive item.  Tentatively he laid a hand on the arm.  It was so smooth, Tony knew, nothing like the older, rattier one that had been there.  Carefully Tony laid his hand over Steve’s.  “Hey, if you want to bring the old one back, we can.  It’s fine.  It’s just in storage.  We can do it right now.”

“N-no,” Steve whispered.  “This is okay.”

Tony couldn’t stand the defeated look on his face.  He squeezed Steve’s hand and pushed him over gently.  Then he plopped down on the couch (holy crap, it really was soft) and tugged Steve toward him.  “I haven’t tried this one out much,” he said slyly, waggling his eyebrows like a moron.  “Think it’s as good for making out as the old one?”

That won him a small smile.  “I don’t know.”  That wasn’t exactly a resounding vote of approval (or the prelude to Steve pouncing on him, which he would have before all of this had happened), but it wasn’t a refusal either, so Tony gently went onward.  He slid his hands up Steve’s thighs and under his shirt to his stomach.  The swells of muscles there weren’t as defined as his fingers remembered, but he tried not to think about that as he traced them, as he kissed them through the cotton of Steve’s shirt.  Every one of his senses was acutely attuned to Steve, if he shivered or shuddered or tried to pull away.  If he was okay with this.  Of course they hadn’t been intimate since Steve had come home, hadn’t really considered it or even approached the topic until now.

And now felt sudden and scary.  Tony looked up and caught Steve’s gaze, but it was always so hard to tell what he was thinking.  There wasn’t exactly acceptance there, but again, there was no objection.  Tenderly Tony took Steve’s hand and kissed each of his knuckles, taking his time, closing his eyes and losing himself in the rush of relief.  It still felt new and dreamlike sometimes, that Steve was real and solid and with him.  His soul shivered with euphoria.  “I missed you so much,” he whispered.  “Missed this.”

“Me, too,” Steve whispered back.

Tony opened his eyes again and smiled, taking that as an invitation to continue.  He tugged Steve down to the couch, giving him plenty of opportunity to stop if he wanted.  Steve went pliantly, sitting beside Tony, and Tony leaned over to cup his face and kiss his lips.  This was welcomed, comfortable for them both, though right now Tony could only think of wanting more, of _needing_ more.  He pressed closer, gently coaxing Steve’s mouth open and kissing more deeply when Steve obliged him.  He slid his hands down Steve’s chest, putting more of his weight onto Steve as he pushed himself slowly to his knees and carefully maneuvered toward Steve’s lap.

Steve was touching him, threading his hands through Tony’s hair, but his hands were shaking.  Tony could feel it.  He didn’t know if it was due to the tremors that still bothered him sometimes or from fear, and considering the latter was too upsetting, so he decided not to.  And he was kissing back with an even level of interest that once again didn’t really speak to surging forward or backing off.  Tony pulled back for a breath, leaning up to look down at Steve, trying to gauge it all.  “You alright?”

Steve nodded.  “Fine.”

Tony kissed harder, groaning happily into Steve’s mouth and rolling his hips into Steve’s lap.  “Good,” he purred when he came up for air.  He cradled Steve’s face, grinning devilishly as he kissed his way along the line of Steve’s jaw and then down his throat, slipping his thumb over Steve’s lips as he did and thinking about the dozens and dozens of other times he’d done that.  Imagining Steve kissing his finger and playfully nipping or sucking it, Steve rolling forward and pinning him to the couch just as he had to their bed the night before he’d been kidnapped, his grip like iron on Tony’s hips and boldly taking Tony deep into his mouth, into his throat–

And that image of the feeding tube choking him and the hideous gag they’d used to keep his mouth open and the hands holding Steve down, holding him down and _forcing him…_   It came unbidden, a flash of utter horror that doused his desire like ice water, and Tony was getting off before he even realized what he was doing.  “No, we shouldn’t,” he stammered, trying to hide that he was shaking.  _Jesus, fuck, fuck, fuck!_   “It’s fine.”

“Tony?” Steve murmured, leaning up from where he’d sunk into the couch under Tony’s weight.  “Tony, what–”

“It’s too soon, isn’t it?”  Tony struggled for a smile, struggled to make it seem like he wasn’t on the verge of a flashback himself.  He felt sick, sick because he’d been turned on and hard and _wanting_ and that was so _fucking_ wrong.  “Yeah, you need a little more time.  We shouldn’t rush this.”

Steve shook his head, clearly concerned and confused.  “I said I’m okay.”

Tony leaned down and kissed him quickly.  “Of course you are.  And so am I.  I’ll, um…  I need to use the bathroom.  Back in a bit.”  And he _fucking_ bolted to the suite he’d installed in the workshop, running into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Inside the silence was devastating.  Everything was so damn close.  The walls and ceiling were pressing in, collapsing, crushing.  More memories were right there, right at the edge of his thoughts.  Steve tied to the table.  Steve naked.  Steve screaming.  Steve scrubbing himself raw in the shower, trying to wash off the phantom hands of other people touching him.  Trying to wash off _Ty_ touching him.  Ty touched him.

_Rape victim._

Tony couldn’t breathe, and his heart was racing so fast that he felt like he was dying.  He couldn’t stand to think about it, couldn’t stand to consider it, but he was.  He’d told himself before that Ty wouldn’t have done that, wouldn’t have actually raped Steve, but did he really know for sure?  Ty had ruined Steve in every way imaginable, destroyed him, used his body, and so much of that was tied into wanting to hurt Tony.  Wanting to destroy what Tony had with Steve.  Wanting to take what Tony had with Steve, _everything_ Tony had with Steve.  Had he taken this, too?  Tony was trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that it _wouldn’t_ matter, if Steve had been raped.  The end result, the trauma and emotional damage and scars on Steve’s psyche…  The end result was the same regardless, so if it really had happened, it wouldn’t fucking matter.

But it did matter.  And it hurt so much.  It hurt so much to wonder.  It hurt so much not to know.  It hurt so much to think that Ty had violated Steve this way, too.  _It hurt._

_And it was because of me._

For what felt like forever, Tony just breathed.  He breathed until his heart stopped thundering and his body stopped shaking.  He breathed until the panic was quieter.  He breathed, and then he glanced at the closed toilet.  His stomach was roiling and his throat burning with bile, but he managed to swallow down his nausea.  He managed to calm down.  He had to, because he needed to get back out there.  Steve was waiting for him, and Steve was probably scared and alone and worried.  Steve needed him, needed him to be strong and sure.  Steve needed him, so he had to go back.  Once again, he _had_ to go.

And, once again, he just couldn’t.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Just some warnings on this chapter for Tony's nightmares. He has a pretty bad one that includes some non-consensual touching. Also there's more talk of sexual assault and generally some pretty serious unhappiness. Read at your own discretion.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! :-)

Tony came awake with a start.  Right away he knew something was wrong.  Steve was right there beside him, breathing calmly and evenly, turned away and burrowed into the duvet.  He was peaceful, content.  Sleeping.  He was fine.

But something was _wrong._

Lightning flashed.  Tony jerked and looked behind him, the blinding illumination bursting through the windows and turning their bedroom furniture into monsters.  Thunder boomed, and Tony shivered.  He sat there staring out the window, his heart pounding and his breath coming in shallow pants.  More lightning.  More thunder.  Rain was splattering softly against the massive panes, a wet whisper muted by the thickness of the glass.  As the day had worn on, the November sky had turned angry, slate-gray and filled with rain clouds signaling a late-season weather front.  It was just a storm, not even a terribly loud or violent one.  That was all that had woken him.  A storm.

Tony shook his head, dropping his face to his hands with a heavy sigh.  _Christ._   He felt shaky with panic, cold with sweat, and it took him a moment more of forcing himself to calm down before he accepted that everything was alright.  His own exhaustion helped with that, swooping back and dragging him down.  Before he even thought better of it, he was lowering himself to the mattress again, pressing his face right back into Steve’s shoulder and inhaling deeply.  Steve was warm, smelled so comforting and familiar.  Underneath the blankets, Tony slid his hand up Steve’s left thigh, up his hip, and around his stomach, rubbing the newly firm and muscled skin there with his thumb with the same tenderness he’d had earlier that day.  Steve’s breath hitched a moment, but then he sighed and shifted just a bit more into Tony’s arms.  Tony kissed the back of his head and let his eyes drift shut.

Before they closed, though, lightning winked through the room again, and _there was someone outside._

Tony went stiff, eyes going wide.  He grabbed Steve’s hip in a sudden jolt of fear.  No.  It couldn’t be.  There _couldn’t_ be anyone on the balcony.  The security systems would have gone off.  He had his phone right in his other hand.  There was absolutely no way that anyone could–

Thunder rumbled, vibrating the top of the Tower.  Wicked light slashed through the penthouse, and Tony’s blood turned to ice.  There really was a shadow right outside the balcony doors.  The shadow of a man.  Someone outside.

Horrified, Tony scrambled, twisting, pushing the covers off and rolling out of bed.  He hit the floor on his knees, panicked beyond belief, and fumbled with his phone.  It wouldn’t turn on no matter how hard he tapped the screen.  It wouldn’t turn on!

JARVIS was gone.  JARVIS was off, silenced.  _JARVIS couldn’t help him._   The son of bitch had somehow taken out his AI, _somehow_ disabled all of his security systems.  That didn’t seem possible, but it had happened.  This was really happening!

Again thunder boomed, a particularly loud crack that rattled the room, and Tony floundered, racing around the bed.  He slammed his hand to the panel beside the closet, pausing to make sure it lit up before returning his gaze to the person on the balcony, the shadow standing in the lightning and looking in their bedroom.  This intruder hadn’t thought to sever Tony’s connections to Iron Man, and the secret section of the wall opened.  The armor’s eyes came to life, the suit humming powerfully as it exited its alcove.  As he rushed toward the doors to the terrace, Tony didn’t have to slow at all.  Iron Man fluidly wrapped around him, and just as he reached the exit the faceplate slid down into place and the HUD came to life.

There was nothing there.  Lightning flashed and flashed, violently filling the black night, but the HUD wasn’t tricked by it no matter how frightening and creepy it was.  The infrared scanners told the truth.  There was no figure outside the doors, no one trying to break in, no threat outside.  There was only the rain.

Confused but increasingly horrified, he scanned again and again, going over every millimeter of the glass, of the door, of the concrete terrace and its expensive seating area and reflecting pool and railings.  It didn’t make any sense.  He’d seen someone out there.  He was sure of it!

That feeling of _someone behind him_ worked its way over him in a wild, painful rush, and he turned around with a jolt, raising his palm repulsors.  _How’d he get in?  How’d he get past me?_   The questions pulsed through his brain, his breath a frantic whoosh inside his helmet, but he couldn’t think enough to answer them, couldn’t focus on anything except the bed, couldn’t breathe at all when he saw it was empty.

“Oh, God,” Tony whispered, dizzy with terror.  How could he have been so stupid?  “Oh, God!”

A soft thud heralded something landing at his feet.  Terrified, he took a step back and looked down only to see a blinking grenade, the same sort that the soldiers had used to disable Iron Man down in Ty’s lab.  There was that muted clap of thunder, far more terrifying than the actual thunder rumbling through the penthouse, and Iron Man shut off completely, leaving him trapped inside.  Trapped and completely helpless, utterly unable to move.

Unable to do anything at all as the lightning flashed and shadows parted beside the bed.  “Oh, God…” Tony moaned.  “No…  No, no, no!”

“Oh, Tones, yes,” Ty hissed.  He had Steve in front of him, one hand over Steve’s mouth, the other across his chest.  Steve’s hands were behind his back, probably already bound, and he was shaking violently.  His eyes were squeezed shut, but tears still escaped them, streaming down his flushed face.  He was stiff with panic, too afraid to fight, to struggle at all.  He was completely at Ty’s mercy.

Ty grinned that awful, smug grin of his.  “Did you _really_ think I wouldn’t touch him?”

And that hand across Steve’s chest drifted downward, down across Steve’s pecs to his side, to his _left_ hip where the fingers curled agonizingly slowly, _possessively_ , before slipping under Steve’s t-shirt to rub across his lower stomach just as Tony had before, like Ty somehow knew, like this was some sort of perverted version of Tony’s earlier caress, and then his hand went lower under the waistband of Steve’s pajama pants and grabbed and groped, and Steve jerked and screamed into the hand over his mouth, and–

–lightning crashed, and when the blinding force of it was gone, Steve was back in bed, sleeping peacefully.

Tony gasped, reeling.  Thunder cracked.  Everything spun around him, and his throat went tight, burning with bile.  He couldn’t make his lungs work, couldn’t get air in his body, couldn’t process anything through the maelstrom of horror and pain battering him.  _Only a dream.  It was only a dream!_

Stumbling to the bed (he wasn’t even wearing his armor!), he reached a shaking hand to Steve’s arm, but then he stopped.  Christ, what if _this_ was the nightmare?  What if he touched Steve only to witness him disappear because Ty really had been there?  What if Ty had really snuck inside their bedroom and kidnapped him again?  Logic dictated (and there was still some part of Tony’s brain functioning enough to be logical) that he’d sleep-walked, hallucinated the man on the balcony, imagined it all…  He _had_ to have imagined it all!

Heaving a soft sob, he laid his hand to Steve’s arm, and there was only heat and the familiar muscles of Steve’s bicep.  Steve’s face was lax, his lips parted as he breathed deeply, his hands clutching his pillow the way he often did when he slept.  There was no sign he’d been hurt, that he’d been touched, that he had even been awake.  No, Tony was the only one awake, and _none_ of what he’d just experienced had been real.  That shook him to his core.

However, the feeling of being watched, of _someone_ in the room or out on the balcony or, fuck, _anywhere,_ wouldn’t go away, and Tony left Steve alone in the bed, stumbling down just as he had dreamed to the alcove.  He’d brought Iron Man up here right after Steve had already gone to sleep.  The thought of sleeping without a weapon had suddenly seemed stupid beyond the pale, and why bring a gun or a knife when he had a billion-dollar suit of armor?  JARVIS had told him in not so many words that that was unnecessary and ridiculous, but now he was fucking _thrilled_ he hadn’t listened.

Slapping his palm to the control interface again, it came to life and the large wall panel opened.  Iron Man’s eyes were glowing again ( _that EMP grenade wasn’t real!_ ) and Tony let the armor encase him.  He wasted not a second, opening the doors to the storm and jetting outside above the terrace.  The HUD was already alive with the suit’s scanners and connecting to the Tower’s computers.  The security systems appeared on the perimeter of his visible space, the results from the diagnostic that JARVIS was preemptively running.  “Sir, this is crazy!” the AI sputtered.  “There is nothing–”

“Ty was out here!” Tony hissed, and he fired the thrusters in Iron Man’s boot, launching into the air.

“That is not possible!” JARVIS sternly declared.  His voice was seemingly drowned out by Tony’s charged breathing, which seemed about one level below complete hyperventilation.  “There is no one here!  He cannot be here!  Are you listening to me?”

Tony wasn’t.  He wasn’t listening to anyone, not believing anything, not even his own tech flashing negative and null results all over his HUD.  Rain splattered all over the suit, and lightning continued to lash the sky, but he flew high over the Tower and looking down, scanning the roof, the sides of the building, the balconies and landing platform for the quinjet and _everything_ he could see.  The surrounding blocks.  _The city._   Ty was out there – _he had to be_ – and Tony would find him.

And kill him.

* * *

Sometime later, Tony heard someone calling his voice.  He cracked open his eyes and saw Steve standing over him.  Steve was still dressed in his pajamas and looked like he’d just woken up.  He was frowning.  “What the hell’s going on?”

Awareness came flying out of the haze of sleep, and Tony lurched upward.  He was still wearing the armor, everything except for the helmet.  Vaguely he recalled having just enough energy to get that off before he’d collapsed in the chair in the sitting area last night (or this morning.  _Very_ early this morning).  The helmet was on the floor, and the carpet and chair were absolutely soaked with rain beneath him.  He couldn’t have slept that long then, even though it like seemed it had been ages.  His head was stuffed with cotton, his brain pretty well offline, and he couldn’t figure out for the longest time exactly what the problem was.

Then it came back.  All of it _came back._   And the question spilled from his lips, desperate and raw and utterly uninhibited.  “Did he touch you?”

Steve was staring at him like he was going crazy.  He probably was.  “What?”

Panic surged through Tony, and he stood, Iron Man’s servos whirring softly as he did.  The memories were right there, Steve in the shower and the couch in the workshop and the dream…  It had to be a dream.  The arrogant, lascivious glint in Ty’s eyes as he’d held Steve at his mercy, as he’d…  He couldn’t stand to even think about it.  Last night after Steve had gone to bed, after he’d brought Iron Man up from the armory, he’d spent _hours_ looking through the data from Ty’s lab, looking for any record of sexual assault.  For fuck’s sake, the doctors and researchers had been meticulous, practically documenting every bruise and cut Steve had sustained.  Ty had fucking filmed _everything_.  Why wouldn’t he have recorded this?

But there was nothing to suggest any sort of sexual abuse had occurred.  No records from Ty’s staff.  No footage.  The medical personnel at the SHIELD hospital hadn’t noted anything either; all of Steve’s other wounds had taken so long to heal thanks to the serum being gravely depleted and his time in cryostasis, so any soft tissue damage might have been detectable even months later.  There was nothing noted in his chart, and they’d never said anything.

Even after all that, after having JARVIS examine every byte of data from those files with _nothing_ to show for it, Tony wasn’t satisfied.  He couldn’t be.  The hell he’d lived last night was right there on the edge of his consciousness, whispering and tormenting.  He had to know.  _He had to know._

So he had to ask.  It was the only way to be sure.  “Did he _touch_ you?”

Steve shook his head, clearly perplexed and a little afraid.  “Who?  What’re you talking about?”

Tony stepped forward, and Steve took a step back.  “Did he…  Did they…”

“Tony, what…  What’s the mat–”

“Did he rape you?”

Silence.  The soft, frantic words hung in the air.  They were naked, awful, turning everything dark and sick.  Steve’s face went slack in horror, his eyes widening and the color draining from his cheeks.  Tony’s heart pounded.  He couldn’t breathe.  His mind was racing, leaping, barreling towards the inevitable.  _Oh, God.  He’s upset I found out.  He’s upset that I know.  Oh, God, fuck, fuck, it happened, it happened and he’s hurting and I don’t know what to do God, God, God–_

“No,” Steve said.

That came as such a humongous surprise that Tony physically backpedaled.  “N-no?  Are you sure?  Are you sure you weren’t?”  Steve’s memories of it all couldn’t be that clear.  They couldn’t be.

Steve stared at him in complete alarm and confusion for a couple of endless seconds.  Then his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened into a frown.  “Would it matter if I was?” he snapped.

Tony shook his head.  “No.  No!  Of course not.  I just–”

“What?  Does it make it _worse_ if he did?” Steve yelled.  His eyes filled with tears.  “Jesus Christ, Tony!  What the hell is the matter with you?”

 _Oh, God._   Tony blinked back tears of his own, suddenly too weak to stand even with the modest weight of Iron Man.  He sank back into the wet chair.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I just…  I can’t…”

Steve stiffened.  “Can’t what?”  His stance radiated pain and betrayal and so much anger.  “Don’t you believe me?”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and looked away because, no, he didn’t.  He didn’t.  Where had his mind automatically gone when Steve said no?  _He doesn’t remember it happening.  Or he’s lying.  He’s hiding it because he’s ashamed.  He’s trying to protect me.  That’s who he is, what he does.  He’s trying to protect me from just how terrible it was._   Those were his immediate conclusions.

Why was he looking for reasons to deny what Steve said?  Why wasn’t he relieved?  Why wasn’t he overjoyed?

Because he wanted to keep his obsessions alive.  What the _fuck_ was the matter with him?

There was a knock at the door to the bedroom.  Tony jumped, and Steve stepped away, trembling.  Neither of them move to the door.  “Tony?”  That was Pepper’s voice.  Tony was so lost he couldn’t begin to think of what to do.  “Steve?  Tony?  Can I come in?”

Both of them remained frozen a second or two more.  Then Steve turned and stalked to the bathroom.  He slammed the door behind him, hard enough that Tony worried about the hinges and the doorframe.  Tony knew he should go after him – God, he _had_ to do something to make this better! – but he found himself walking on wobbly legs to the door.  Pepper’s muffled voice was continuing.  “Tony, is everything alright?  I’m coming in–”

Tony unlocked the door and opened it to find Pepper’s concerned visage.  Her face settled into a frown, her forehead furrowing, as she took in his undoubtedly harried (and strange) appearance.  “What’s going on?  Why are you wearing the armor?”

Tony looked down at the sleek plates of red and gold, the blue glow of the arc reactor, and his brain skipped again.  Everything was so jumbled up, blurry and wrong.  He couldn’t process what he was seeing, what he was doing, _what he’d done._   “Oh, God,” he moaned, closing his eyes.  “God, Pepper…”

“What happened?” Pepper demanded, stepping into the room.  “Is Steve okay?  Where is he?”  Tony couldn’t even begin to answer her.  He was so goddamn sick to his stomach.  She stared at him, and she looked ill, too.  “Tony, talk to me.  You’re scaring me.  What’s going on?”

He snapped out of it.  He triggered the suit’s internal release mechanisms, and Iron Man peeled away from him.  It was creepy watching the headless armor walk back to the chair under JARVIS’ control, only adding to the discontent in the air.  Iron Man bent to gather the discarded helmet before returning to the alcove.  Shocked, Pepper shook her head.  Her mouth was hanging open.  “When did you install that in here?  And where’s Steve?”

Tony stepped away, scratching at his skin where it felt sweaty and pinched from hours of being in the suit.  He went back to the bed, glancing at the sealed bathroom door as he did, and sat on the end of it.  “Steve’s…  Steve’s fine.  In the bathroom.  And I don’t know.”  He squeezed his eye shut against the fresh burn of tears and the pain pulsing in his skull.  “No.  Yesterday, I think.”

“You think?”  Pepper shook her head.  “God, what’s wrong with you?”

She was the second person in the matter of a couple minutes to ask him that.  Third, if he counted himself.  He groaned hoarsely, scrubbing his hands down his face and trying to gather himself enough to function.  Christ, all he could see was the look in Steve’s eyes when he’d asked him if he’d been raped.  All he could hear was the horror behind Steve’s answer, horror directed _at_ Tony rather than anything Ty had done to him.  And all he could feel was the shame.  “Fucking everything up,” he said.  “Par for the fucking course, really.”

“Tony–”

“Why’re you here?”  Suddenly he felt violated, infringed upon, _invaded_.  After everything he’d endured, nobody had any right to see him like this, let alone judge him.  “Did you need something?”

It was clear Pepper couldn’t make heads or tails of him.  He’d seen exasperation on her once or twice (or a lot of times), seen her varying levels of frustration in handling him both professionally and personally.  Those times were nothing like this.  Even their argument yesterday was _nothing_ like this.  She seemed shocked and scared beyond even knowing what to think or say.  “The press conference?  It’s at nine?  Which is just an hour from now?”

He stared at her.  Press conference?  “What press conference?”

Now her irritation overcame her fear, and she glared at him with her arms folded across her gray silk blouse.  “You agreed to it yesterday, Tony.”  That sparked some recognition, but the understanding must not have reached his face.  She shook her head.  “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“No.”

She wasn’t at all convinced, narrowing her eyes.  “Have you been drinking?”

That was enough to shake him loose again.  Infuriated, he pushed himself off the bed.  “No.  Of course not!”

Flustered, Pepper followed him as he stomped to the walk-in closet to find some clothes.  “Well, you seem hungover!  Out of your head!  What am I supposed to think?”

“That I wouldn’t do anything like that!” Tony snapped.  He yanked a pair of jeans off one of his hangers and snatched one of his older, rattier t-shirts.  “I didn’t do it when Steve was killed – when he – oh, fuck.  You know what I mean.  I didn’t do it then and I’m not doing it now.”  He stormed back out of the closet, fumbling gracelessly to pull off his pajama pants as he did.  “So thanks for the vote of confidence!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Tony.”  Pepper shook her head, watching him with pain in her eyes as he struggled to get himself dressed.  “You’re _really_ scaring me here.  I don’t know what’s going on in your head anymore.  Steve’s back and he’s getting better.  No, he’s not okay or whole yet, but he’s here and he’s _getting better._   You, on the other hand, are completely falling apart!  Natasha told me what you said at breakfast yesterday.”  Tony flinched, but there were no excuses.  Pepper shook her head.  “You can’t handle this yourself!  You can’t run yourself ragged looking for threats and take on all of Steve’s troubles and do all of that on no sleep and with your own guilt tearing you apart.  You think you can hide how low you’re getting?  You’re not fooling anyone.  I saw it yesterday, and I _begged_ you not to do this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he snarled.

“That’s a lie, and you know it.”  Tony averted his eyes, broiling inside with anger.  Pepper sighed.  “You need to take a step back.  You need to let us help you and help Steve.  Right now.  I’ll cancel the press conference.  You need to calm down and get back in that bed and sleep this off.”

“What I need is for everyone to get off my fucking case,” Tony hissed before he thought better of it.  “That means you.”

Pepper looked like she’d been slapped.  Then her face tightened into a frown.  “I’m done,” she said sharply, trying to hide a world of hurt with her clipped tone.  “You don’t want help?  Fine.  I won’t help.  You need to be down in the lobby in thirty minutes.  Clean yourself up.”  With that, she turned on her heel, briskly crossed the room, and left, slamming the door on her way out.

Tony looked down at his bare feet.  God, he really was fucking everything up.  It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, a vicious cycle he seemed doomed to repeat.  Why couldn’t he let anything go?  These feelings of betrayal that had been low-key festering since he’d found Steve, for the whole _year_ since Steve had been kidnapped, were at long last boiling over.  He’d been doing a decent job at ignoring them, at dismissing the fact that he’d been right and they’d all been wrong and they were in this fucking situation because no one had believed him.  The fact that he was feeling this way was taking him by surprise, like it had snuck up on him the last couple days as the frustration over Steve physically getting better but mentally still ailing really hit hard.  He couldn’t deny that his anger over everything was fueling his obstinance now.

And, as was the wont of really bad situations, this one was about to get worse.  “What press conference?”

Tony whirled to see Steve standing in the doorway to the bathroom.  Apparently he’d overhead their argument (which wouldn’t have been hard – he probably didn’t even need advanced hearing to catch every gory detail) and had emerged.  His cheeks were wet with tear tracks he hadn’t entirely wiped away, but he was staring at Tony firmly, clearly expecting an answer.

Tony didn’t have one.  The whole thing, the fact that he’d needed to tell Steve about this, had completely slipped his mind yesterday afternoon and evening.  Not that there was much left of his mind other than all his stupid fears and doubts and obsessions, other than his consuming guilt.  Other than the idea that his husband had been raped by his former friend like some gratuitous parting strike in a fruitless war.  At any rate, now the press conference was an hour away, and he was standing there like a moron half-dressed and half out of his mind, and Steve was right in front of him waiting, and he had to say something.  He had to explain.  _He had to._ “It’s nothing.  People are worried about you.  They want to know what happened.  That’s all.”

Steve flinched.  He tried to hide it, but he failed, and Tony winced, too.  “And you’re going to tell them… what happened?”  There was some serious fear there.  He couldn’t hide that, either.

Tony sighed and crossed the room to him.  So desperately he wanted to touch him – _needed_ to touch him – but he didn’t dare.  He stopped just in front of him, helpless and hurting.  “No.  Not the details.  I’m just going to tell them that you’re back in the Tower and that you’re alright.  You’re alright, love.  I’m just going to tell them that.”

That soft assurance didn’t have the effect he wanted.  Of course it didn’t, because it was bullshit.  Steve’s eyes narrowed, and the anger from before came rushing back.  “You’re going to tell them I’m alright?”  He shook his head, wiping angrily at his cheeks to get rid of another tear or two.  “A few minutes after you asked me if I was raped.  Now I’m _alright._ ”

Tony didn’t know what to say.  This wasn’t what he wanted.  This wasn’t what he wanted!  “Steve, I was just…  He…  I didn’t know for sure if he – and it–”

“I want to come.”

Tony stopped babbling uselessly.  “What?”

Steve stared at him, surprisingly placid and steadfast given what he was suggesting.  “I want to come to the press conference.  I want to be there.”

Somewhere between yesterday and today the world had drastically tilted, and everything was tipping and falling.  _Nothing_ looked right or sounded right or felt right.  Everything was just off-kilter, and Tony couldn’t begin to fix it.  “Steve, no.  No, you shouldn’t.  You can’t.”

That same dark look that had consumed Steve down in the gym was all over his face now.  “Yes, I can.  I want to.”

“You’re not ready.”

Steve’s piercing eyes narrowed.  “How am I not ready?”

Tony couldn’t believe he had to explain this.  “It hasn’t been that long.  You’re still…  You’re not _well_ yet.  You need more time to get better.”

“I feel fine.”

“I mean–”

Steve was adamant.  “If you’re going to go up there and tell everyone I’m okay, then I _am_ okay.  And I should be the one saying it.  It’s my life.  My body.  My–”  His voice broke.  “My death that was faked.  It’s my job to lead the team.  That’s what this is about, isn’t it?  Showing everyone that the Avengers are okay, too.”

Tony shook his head.  “Yeah, but it’s not that simple.  Telling the public you’re okay is not the same as _being_ okay.  And you will be!  You will be.”  Steve frowned deeply, and Tony felt even worse.  “But you’re not yet.  Not yet.”

“Who are you to judge?” Steve asked.

Tony ignored him.  “You shouldn’t do this, Steve.  In a few weeks, maybe, but not yet.  I don’t want you to get scared or feel pressured or–”

“I won’t,” Steve tensely declared.  “I can handle it.  I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t.  Not yet.  You can’t go.”  It was a struggle for Tony to keep his voice even and caring.  His temper was really starting to slip.

Steve’s was, too.  His eyes flashed with hurt.  “You don’t get to–”

“Just yesterday you broke down in the shower!  You’re not ready!”

Steve just stared at him.  It took him a moment to make the connection.  It took Tony even longer, and when he did…  _Fuck._   “You were watching me?” Steve hissed.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_   Goddamn, Tony was fucking _everything_ up.  “Yeah,” he admitted, knowing he had no choice.  Lying now would make this worse.  As if it _could_ get worse.  “Yeah, I was.  I’m sorry.  I was worried about you, but I had stuff to do, so I…  Okay, I should have come down when you got upset, but I didn’t think you’d want me hovering, and you seemed alright so I–”

“You’re goddamn right I wouldn’t want you hovering!” Steve yelled.  He turned away, practically vibrating with anger.  In their years of marriage and their time dating before that, Tony had never seen Steve like this, so low and raw.  So open and vulnerable and unhinged.  “You can’t do this to me, Tony.  You can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what,” Tony snapped back wearily.  “Take care of you?  Protect you?  Keep you safe?”

“You’re not keeping me safe!  You’re doing what he did!”  Tony lurched.  Steve’s bright, watery eyes were on him in a furious glare.  “You’re controlling me.  You’re keeping me locked up here.  You’re…”  His voice failed him, but he surged on.  “You’re dictating when I eat.  _What_ I eat.  When I sleep.  Where I go and what I do.  Who talks to me and why.  You won’t let me leave.  I have no choices!  No freedom!  No goddamn privacy!  It’s like being a prisoner all over again!”

That hurt.  It hurt _so fucking much._   Rage and horror blasted over Tony in equal measure, one nauseating burst after another, and the room spun again for how physically ill he felt.  “That’s not true,” he managed.  It was hard to talk to through the lump in his throat.  “That’s not true!  Fucking hell, Steve, how could you say that…”

Steve’s hard glower broke, but he didn’t stop.  He started pacing in fact, agitated, his gait clumsy and graceless.  Tony couldn’t ever recall seeing him pace, either.  “You don’t understand.  Nobody does.  I can’t…  I can’t _breathe_ here, Tony.  I can’t.  I can’t sleep.  I can’t eat.  I know this is our home, and I know it’s okay, but I feel so trapped.  It’s like the walls are closing in.  The ceiling’s coming down.  I’m being crushed, and it’s all…”  He swallowed, slowing, struggling to hold on.  “It’s all _right there._   I can’t get away from it because I’m stuck here, and it’s all anyone talks about and thinks about.  You and the others.  The damn doctors.  _Everyone._ So _please._   I want to do something.  I want to work or lead the team.  I want to be Captain America again.  I’m ready to do that.  Let me help you make your statement today.  I need to _do_ something that means something.”

Tony was still reeling from the comparison Steve had made.  More than a comparison.  The _accusation_.  He didn’t know if Steve realized just how awful it was.  “I’m not trying to hurt you.  God, Steve, I’d never…”

“I know,” Steve whispered, wringing his hands.  He was twisting his wedding ring around on his finger.  “And I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!  I know you–”  He faltered again.  “You’re not him.  I know that.  But I can’t deal with being here like this anymore.  I feel like an invalid.  Christ, Tony, you won’t even talk to me!  I know something’s up, and you won’t tell me what it is.  I want to help.”

“You can’t.”

Steve shook his head.  “Tony–”

“And I can’t let you go,” Tony softly said, voice weak with hurt.  Steve grunted and looked away, seething.  Tony went on, desperate to make this better.  “Please understand.  I can’t let you go out there.  It’s not safe.  I have to keep you where I know no one can reach you.  I can’t risk you.”

“Tony, that’s not fair.  You can’t keep me in the Tower forever!”

“I will as long as I have to.  I _have_ to do this, because if anything ever happened to you again, I’d never forgive myself.  I can’t hardly forgive myself as it is, only now I have a chance to do what I didn’t before: _protect you_.  So I can’t let you go.  Not now.  Not yet.  Not until I know for sure the threat is gone.”

“It _is_ gone!  He’s dead!” Steve shouted, losing more and more control over his emotions.  At least he knew that.  Someone had told him that much.  Tony couldn’t even remember if it’d been him, though he doubted it.  Everything was a blur.  _Someone_ had told Steve that Ty was dead, and contradicting that now…  Was whatever meager sense of safety Steve might have _worth_ winning this battle?

It had to be, but Tony could bring himself to admit everything.  He was a chicken shit coward like that.  “You can’t go today, okay?  That’s it, Steve.  You can’t.  I need you here where it’s safe.”

“I said I want to be Captain America again.  I _am_ Captain America!  That’s what this whole goddamn thing is about.  Telling them Captain America is back!”

“No, it’s about getting the world off our backs!  It’s about telling people what they want to hear, and you don’t have to be their fucking sacrifice so they can feel good about themselves!  You are _not_ ready to go back out there!  It’s not safe, not right now, and that’s it!”  Steve’s eyes flashed.  He was furious, on the verge of falling apart completely, and Tony felt worse than ever.  Steve had asked him who was he to judge.  It was so much worse than that.  Who the fuck was he to do this to Steve at all?  Who the fuck was he to decide?  He didn’t own Steve.  _“You lost.  I won.  He’s mine.”_

_You’re just like him._

The words tasted wrong, poisonous, and Tony kept spitting them out, kept justifying himself.  “I can’t trust.  I trusted before.  I trusted SHIELD and the team.  I trusted everyone who told me you were dead, and because I did that, you spent a year with… with him.  And he touched you.  He hurt you in ways I can’t even…”  He couldn’t finish.  Steve shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away.  He was shaking even harder, and Tony ached with the need to comfort him, but he couldn’t muster the courage.  He couldn’t be better than the sum of his obsessions, of his demons.  Of his guilt.  He shook his head.  “I can’t.  I trusted and you paid the price.  So I can’t trust.”

Steve whirled to face him, eyes wet and wild.  _“He didn’t rape me!”_

The truth came out.  “I don’t trust you to be honest.”

The silence that followed was deafening.  Damning.  Steve looked like Tony had physically hit him.  Tony was caught between wanting to get on his knees and beg Steve to forgive him and stand his ground.  He’d always been a stubborn son of a bitch, so the latter won.  It did every damn time.

Steve’s voice shook.  “You don’t trust me.”  He was so close that Tony could feel the hot blast of his breath, see him trembling, hurting and hating himself.  Tears bled from his eyes, hot and bitter.  Still, he stared, unwavering.  “He did this to me _because of you_ , and _you_ don’t trust _me._ ”  Tony’s heart roared in his ears.  He couldn’t believe this was happening.  Steve shook his head.  “You’re a bastard,” he hissed. 

Then he left, too, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

The irony of being alone was the fact that _being alone_ was never what you actually wanted in the end.

Unable to stand being in their bedroom, where all their wonderful memories were slowly but surely being replaced with pain and grief and horror, Tony had fled to his workshop, to the suite he’d built inside it a year ago, the little corner he’d carved for himself where Steve’s presence wasn’t so powerful.  The one place in the Tower, in his life, where Steve had never touched.  It felt wrong to be here now, as wrong as it had in the beginning right after Steve had been taken.  It felt like betrayal, betrayal of their marriage, betrayal of their love.

At this point, it was just one more betrayal heaped on a pile.

Tony showered quickly.  Brushed his teeth.  Shaved.  Gelled his hair.  Dressed in one of the nicer suits he had down here.  After he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror.  It was the first time he’d studied himself, _really looked_ , since that morning in the hospital right after Steve had freed himself from his dissociation and truly come back to him.  That day had felt new, tentative but triumphant, hopeful.  It had felt like a gift, a chance to start again, to rebuild what had been taken from them.  To show the world that they weren’t broken.  That Ty hadn’t broken them.

This morning felt far from that as he stared at his nicely groomed face and exhausted, hollowed-out eyes.  This morning seemed like an end rather than a beginning, and he was lost in it, in how far he’d let himself fall.  All because he couldn’t let anything go.

He finished up getting ready.  After he sat on his stool, eyes closed and his body slumped, utterly defeated.  His workshop was deathly still and utterly silent around him.  No holographic displays floating and flashing with schematics and code and research.  No constant motion.  No lights.  No music.  No banging or clanging of his tools.  No whirring of his bots or JARVIS reminding him of the million and one things he needed to do, none of which more important than what he’d been doing, what he always did and _loved doing,_ working on things for the Avengers with Steve right there beside him.

And there was no sound of Steve’s voice as he sang along out of tune from where he’d sketched on his couch, the couch that Tony had replaced with something different just to get Steve’s memory out of his head.  No smile on Steve’s lips as Tony had animatedly explained his latest theories and plans.  No light in his eyes as he’d looked over Tony’s shoulder, marveling at the way his hands worked as Tony designed and built and _created._ There was none of that, because he’d pushed Steve away.  He wasn’t taking care of Steve.  Not really.  He was taking care of himself, of his own damaged heart and mind, and controlling Steve because it was easier to do that than face what he couldn’t answer _._   Steve was absolutely right.  He _was_ a bastard.  A selfish pathetic son of a bitch who’d rather lose his world to be right than save it and be wrong.

_We are who we are.  And you and me, Tones?  We always have to be on top._

Minutes slipped away.  Tony didn’t move.  He couldn’t.  He should be checking the security feeds.  Hell, he _should_ be going down the lobby.  The clock on his workbench was counting down the minutes.  The press conference was about to start.  Now it was starting.  It was two minutes past.  Five minutes.  _Ten_ minutes past.

The world needed him.  The team needed him.  _Steve_ needed him more now than he ever had, but he was too much of a coward to save anyone, most of all himself.

The glass doors to the workshop opened.  JARVIS didn’t bother announcing who was there, didn’t stop the intruder from coming in in the first place.  Tony blinked wearily, not turning at all from where he was staring at the tile floor under the stool.  That same sense of indignation at being invaded and judged for his failings came back, but it was hardly anything.  He didn’t have the energy to care.

“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Rhodey said softly.  “What are you doing?”

Tony closed his eyes.  He didn’t answer.  The same question.  This same scene, playing out just as it had in the past.  _History repeating itself._   He heard Rhodey sigh and walk closer.  After stopping by briefly a couple weeks ago to see Steve and make sure everyone was well, Rhodey had been deployed with War Machine to the Gulf to monitor a tense situation brewing there.  Apparently he was back.  JARVIS had probably told him sometime over the last few days, but that was another thing that had just fallen to the wayside.

“Leave the country for a bit and everything turns to shit,” Rhodey commented with some forced wryness to his tone.  He came to stop just behind Tony at another of his workbenches.  “Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs?  Pepper’s looking for you.  They’re all looking for you.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“And you’re hiding up here.  What happened with Steve?  JARVIS said…”

“We fought.  I said some things…  Christ, I fucked up.”  Admitting that hurt so fucking much, but even that wasn’t enough to get him to stop wallowing.

Rhodes shook his head.  “You’re falling, man,” he declared.  It still felt like that.  The world had tipped all the way over, and he was tumbling weightless.  Tumbling through a hole in the sky, plummeting to the city below…  Steve wouldn’t be able to catch him.  It was too far, and he was coming down too fast, and Steve was hurt.  Steve couldn’t catch him like he always did.  “Tony?  Hey.”

Tony opened eyes he’d squeezed shut.  Rhodey was right there in front of him, crouching and grabbing his knees, and where there had been anger and aggravation months before, his large, brown eyes were soft with concern now.  “You gotta stop.  I know what’s been going on.”

Tony gasped a choked-off sob.  He pushed Rhodey off and stood.  His legs were stiff and aching, his back even worse from so many nights of poor sleep and so much abuse.  He could barely straighten himself, so he ended up staggering away.  “Then you know why I can’t!  I can’t stop!”

“This is Manila all over again,” Rhodey declared, standing too and following him.  Tony turned to look at him.  They were in the center of the dark, idle holopad.  Rhodey was dressed in jeans and a green plaid shirt and a black leather jacket.  He looked nothing but safe and desperate to help.  “This is you watching and studying and pulling apart horrors like an addict trying to get a fix no matter what it costs.  This is you chasing a ghost because you couldn’t let it go.  And, yeah, in the end you were right, and but you sure as hell destroyed yourself proving it.”

Tony winced and turned away.  “I had to.  No one would believe me.”

“You’re absolutely right.  We should have believed you.  That’s on us.  It’s on _all_ of us, and it will be for a long, _long_ time.”  Rhodey stepped closer to him, his gaze unwavering.  “But how far you fell?  How much you shut everyone out?  How you let yourself drown in what you were doing?  That’s on _you_.  That was _all_ you.  You let the problem consume you and drive you and change you.  You took everything too far.  You got lost in it.  I still know you, Tony.  How you handle things hasn’t changed through all this.  And maybe your obsession with finding answers saved Steve’s life.  Maybe.  Sometimes it’s impossible to tell where the obsession ends and the genius begins.”  He shook his head.  “But no matter how you saved him, you’re the one hurting him now.  You’re ruining yourself, and you’re hurting him.”

Tony couldn’t listen to this.  “God, Rhodey, don’t you fucking get it?  Ty’s still out there!  He’ll come after Steve again!  He’ll take him again!  He’ll put him back in the tank, wire him back up to that machine…”  _Touch him._   “Why doesn’t _anyone_ understand?”

“Why do you think he’s still alive?”

_“Because he has to win!”_

That was what it came down to.  There was no good reason other than that.  Ty was smarter.  Ty was richer.  Ty was cleverer, sneakier.  Ty had won before.  Ty had stolen from him and got away with it before.  Ty _beat him_ before.  And no matter what Steve had said in those final minutes on that video, no matter his faith in Tony in the end…  It didn’t change the fact that Tony had _lost_ to begin with.

Tony’s eyes welled with tears.  His voice was shattered, broken, laden with so much guilt.  “He always has to win.”

Rhodey stared at him firmly.  “And do you think you’re winning now?”  His arms were held up openly in a show of exasperation before he let them fall to his thighs in a slap.  “Do you?  You’re the same way you were when Steve was gone, only now he’s not gone at all.  He’s here.  He’s alive.  It’s a miracle, Tony, but you’re not treating it like one.  And you’re not together.  No, you’re alone in here and chained to this nightmare, too screwed up to even do a few minutes of a press conference.  Steve is suffering by himself, just as alone and probably scared out of his mind that you’re like this.  Everyone is else scrambling to figure out how to help, but no one can, and nothing is getting better.  Is _this_ winning?”

Tony stared.  For a few seconds, he really didn’t think.  The words were in his head, churning, coming together, but he wasn’t ready to acknowledge what they meant.  He didn’t get a chance to try because JARVIS’ voice quietly broke the silence.  “Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Potts wants you to know she is about to cancel the press conference.”

Shaking his head, Rhodey came closer.  “Let’s go down and do this.  Then, when it’s done, you’re going to go find Cap and make sure he’s okay.”

God, he felt like a complete failure on every level.  “Is he?”

“Physically, sure.  JARVIS says he’s in your bedroom.  Got himself dressed.  Thor’s with him.  He’s fine.  Having breakfast, I think.”  Rhodey shook his head solemnly.  “But he needs you, Tony.  That’s what you need to focus on.  None of the rest of this…  It doesn’t matter, even if it feels like it should.  So once we’re through with this, you need to go up to him.  You need to sleep and eat and not get lost in this stuff again.  You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to take care of him.  Steve needs you _present_ , and that’s it.  Everything else will come.”

_He needs to trust you.  The rest will come._

Tony still wasn’t capable of really thinking, really digesting what Rhodey was saying.  And it wasn’t like he didn’t know these things.  He did.  Some part of him always had.  But hearing it…  Hearing it _now,_ after how far he’d slipped that morning…  Knowing that he couldn’t be this obsessed and take care of Steve.  He _needed_ to take care of Steve.  That was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that _could_ matter.

After a moment or two, Rhodey nodded, obviously taking Tony’s calm as a sign of being ready.  “Alright, let’s get down there.”

“No,” Tony said.  He ripped himself from his thoughts, shaking his head like that could clear it.  Rhodey looked a cross between worried and irritated.  Tony clasped him on the shoulder, still feeling out of it and more than awkward, but the contact felt good.  Natural.  “Just… not yet, okay?  I need to go talk to Steve.”  Sudden energy rushed over him, and he was briskly walking to the workshop doors. 

Rhodey was confused and aggravated.  “I said later, Tony.  They need you downstairs!”

Tony didn’t stop to answer.  He ran down the hallway to the elevator, which JARVIS already had waiting for him.  The lift took him back up, and the second the doors swished opened, he walked with determination into their penthouse.  It was only at their bedroom that he hesitated, that his nerves nearly got the better of him.  But he took a deep breath and went inside.

Thor and Bruce were at the sitting area.  Breakfast was half-eaten on the table, eggs and pancakes it looked like.  Aside from Steve’s mostly full plate, there was no sign of him.  “Where is he?” Tony asked, a bit breathless and a lot worried.

Thor was dressed in jeans and a red button-down shirt.  His forehead wrinkled in confusion and a fair bit of anger.  “The bathroom.  He is having a difficult time with nausea this morning.”

Bruce stood.  “Shouldn’t you be down doing the press conference?”

“And what did you say to him?” Thor demanded, his voice tenser with accusation.  “He has been very upset and is struggling mightily not to show it.  Clearly it involves you, so what did you say?”

Tony sighed, walking past them toward the bathroom.  The door was shut.  “I screwed up royally, and I’m sorry.  I’m trying to fix this.  I need him to come down with me.”

“To the press conference?”  Bruce shook his head emphatically.  “Tony, he’s not ready for that!”

“I know,” Tony said sharply, keeping his voice quiet.  He eyed them sternly.  “Don’t yell.”

Bruce frowned, obviously irritated and blaming Tony for all of this (frankly, Tony was sure he deserved it).  “What the hell’s going on?  Pepper looked about ready to cry this morning, and Steve’s barely functioning, and now you want to bring him down to make a statement to the public?  What are you thinking?”

Tony sighed.  “I need to do this.  For him.  I _know_ he’s not ready.  But this isn’t about what I think or what you think.  It’s not about anything other than letting him decide.  If he wants to do this, then I need to support him.  So I’m here to get him if he still wants to go.  Okay?”

The two other Avengers shared a dubious glance yet again, but Tony only ignored it, turning back to the bathroom door.  It wasn’t locked, but he wasn’t going to barge in.  “Steve?”  He knocked on it.  “Steve, babe, I’m coming in.  I’m coming in, okay?”  He waited a second to give Steve time to refuse, but Steve didn’t, so he turned the knob and headed inside.

A hundred horrible possibilities about what he’d find slithered around in the back of Tony’s head, but what was there was surprisingly normal.  Upsetting a year ago but normal now.  The water in the sink was running, and Steve was leaning over it.  Clearly he’d been splashing it on his face, and it was still dripping down.  Despite Tony’s warnings and despite how cautiously he was moving, Steve still startled the instant he opened the door and stepped inside.  “It’s just me,” Tony said softly, closing the door behind him.  “Just me.”

“Get the hell out,” Steve hissed.  He coughed, spat into the sink, and dunked his hands under the flow again.  Cupping the water, he splashed his face more.  Tony saw the flow was hot rather than cold or even lukewarm.  He wondered if Steve had thrown up.  One of the hand towels was on the floor next to the toilet, and the toilet itself was running.  “I said get out!”

Tony jerked back to where his husband was glaring at him in the mirror.  “I was wrong,” he said.  “I was so wrong.  And I’d say more, but there’s no time.  If you want to do the press conference, let’s go.  They’re waiting.”

Steve blinked repeatedly.  “Wh-what?”

Tony came closer.  Even with the time constraint, he went slowly, telegraphed every movement, tentatively reached over to turn off the steaming water.  He took a deep breath, standing at Steve’s side close enough to be what he hoped was a comfort but far enough to keep himself from being a threat.  “It’s your call.  If you want to do this, let’s do it.  I’ll go with you.”

Steve squinted in confusion, still staring at their reflections.  Tony evenly looked right back at him, staying still and patient.  The silence was deafening, punctuated by only Steve’s harsh breathing.  Tony was hardly breathing at all.  “You mean it?” Steve finally asked.

Tony reached over and grabbed another of the expensive, black hand towels, offering it to his husband.  “I mean it.”

Steve’s demeanor changed from confrontational and defensive to subdued and shocked just like that.  “I…  I mean, I’m not dressed for it.  Should I get my uniform?”

Tony hadn’t thought about Steve’s uniform in a year.  The armory probably still had a copy or two, but that seemed like too much.  “No.  What you have on is fine.”

Jeans and a polo shirt.  A blue one.  That took Tony back to before, to all the times Steve had worn this shirt.  It brought out the blue in his eyes and reminded him of the way Steve had been before, all easy, sweet smiles and cool confidence and endless strength.  Beautiful.  Steve sighed now, clearly not certain.  “It’s fine,” Tony assured again.

“Should I…”  Steve rubbed at the stubble on his face.  He frowned deeply.  “I look like shit.”

Tony wasn’t about to agree with him (even if he was thinking it, which he was.  Steve looked the same as he had for days, like he hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, and hadn’t seen the sun for months, and all of that was true).  “You look fine.  Just…”  He touched Steve with more certainty, combing his fingers through Steve’s still short hair to get it into its usual position, straightening his collar, smoothing the nice cotton over the impressive lines of his shoulders and down his chest.  The clock was still ticking, and even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel it, but fuck that.  There was nothing more important than this.

When he was through, he smiled encouragingly.  “You’ll be fine.  Okay?”

Steve took a deep breath.  “Okay.”

Tony stared into his eyes.  Now Steve wasn’t looking back, his gaze conspicuously focused downward.  He was biting his lip again, gnawing it on the inside, and Tony wanted nothing more than to kiss him to get him to stop.  He wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to encourage him with a gentle touch.  He didn’t dare, though.  Not now.  He wasn’t sure he’d earned the right to kiss Steve, not after what had happened that morning.

He settled for something less tender but no less important.  “Are you still sure you want to do this?”

Steve’s answer was all bravado, all confidence and strength, but Tony knew him too well to be fooled.  He was nervous.  Scared.  Still…  “Yeah.  Let’s go.”

They went.  Back outside, Thor and Bruce were waiting with expectant eyes and tense frowns.  Steve didn’t meet their gazes like he was afraid he’d find objection there.  Tony saw immediately that that was the case, but his warning glare kept the two of them silent.  His stomach was in goddamn knots as the three of them watched Steve get his shoes and put them on.  _Is this the right thing to do?  Is it safe?  Is Ty out there?  I can’t keep Steve in here.  I can’t treat him like that.  I have to trust.  I have to I have to I have to–_

“You look ready, Steve,” Thor commented, drawing Tony from his frantic thoughts. 

Steve didn’t smile.  He didn’t look ready at all, in fact.  “Thanks.  I guess.  I just…”  He sighed.  “Need to do it, right?”

Thor frowned gently, grasping Steve’s shoulders in a show of brotherly support and affection.  “No.  You do not need to prove anything, certainly not to us and not to the world.”

 _And not to yourself._   Tony didn’t say that.  Steve didn’t say anything, either, like not answering invalidated Thor’s point.  It didn’t.  On the contrary, it made it all the more poignant.  More concerned glances were shared, and Tony forced himself to disregard them even though they were directed at him.  They couldn’t have this both ways.  It couldn’t be the team – _him_ – trusting Steve to make his own decisions but only when _they_ decided it was okay.  That was the very opposite of trust.  So he followed Steve out of the bedroom, down the hallways of their penthouse, and to the elevators, trying not to worry about the shadows, about the fact that he never checked the security footage, about the million and one dangers that could be lurking.  About Ty.  About what Ty did to Steve, about him hurting Steve and touching Steve.

 _I can’t think about that right now._  

The ride down in the elevator was fraught with tension.  Bruce and Thor were behind Steve and Tony, and Tony could feel them looking at each other before scrutinizing both of them.  Their disapproval was practically tangible it was so blatant, and Tony wanted to buckle under it.  The spacious elevator felt fucking claustrophobic, and all his certainty that this was more important, that giving Steve a chance to do what _he_ felt was best was _more important_ than keeping him safe, was utterly melting away like ice through his fingers.

And Steve was deluding himself.  He seemed calm, placid.  Unwavering.  Captain America’s steadfast countenance.  But it wasn’t steadfast.  Tony could still see the little lies, the tiny tells, like the way Steve wasn’t focused on anything, his gaze blurred as he stared at the sealed doors.  He was tense, and his thumb was rubbing compulsively at his wedding band again.  _This is a bad idea._ Tony was fearing that more and more, that his impulsive choice to honor Steve’s wishes was leading them all to disaster.  _God, someone could hurt him.  He’s going to hurt himself.  Goddamn it, what do I do what do I do what–_

The elevator beeped softly as they reached the lobby, and Tony released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  _I have to trust him._

The doors slid open.  The press was all outside the Tower, just beyond the massive glass doors of the lobby.  Lights flashed from cameras, and the noise was obviously deafening outside because it was loud though muffled where they were.  On the street, Stark Industries Security was holding everyone back on the sidewalk.  Happy was leading the detail.  He, too, was tense, probably because the crowd was huge and antsy with being made to wait.  Clint, Natasha, and Pepper were off to the side by the large building doors.  Agent Hill was also with them.  Undoubtedly she was present to protect SHIELD’s interests.  That probably should have pissed Tony off, but he couldn’t focus enough on that to be angry as he stepped off the elevator.

Sternly Hill frowned.  “You’re late, Stark.”  Then her eyes fell to Steve, and they widened in barely controlled surprise.  “Captain…”

Natasha’s irate face went immediately lax, and she dropped her arms from where they were folded across her chest.  “Steve, what’re you…”  She came closer, standing between Steve and the noisy raucous just outside the lobby.  Clint was right at her side, shaking his head in concern and confusion.  With them in front of him and Thor and Bruce behind him and Tony at his side, Steve was completely surrounded by the team.

But even that wasn’t enough.  A couple of steps off the elevator, Steve went still, utterly motionless like he’d been frozen into place.  It didn’t even seem like he was breathing.  Hill shook her head.  “Rogers, are you okay?  You really shouldn’t be down here.  We’re not prepared, and you don’t need to be present for this.”

And she was just the beginning.  They all closed in with tentative hands and a flurry of anxious voices.  “Steve, come on,” Natasha gently said.  “Let’s go back upstairs.”

“You should be resting,” Pepper added.

“We’ve got this covered, Cap,” said Clint.  “We can handle it.”

“As we said before, you’ve no need to prove anything,” Thor declared.

Bruce touched Steve’s arm.  “Let us take you back up.  This isn’t a good idea.”

“No!  _Don’t touch me!_ ” Steve snapped, and just like that he was pulling free from everyone, staggering back.  Tony watched his eyes widen in cold terror and the blood drain from his face.  He was staring outside at the throng of people on the street, and all the sudden they were staring at him, they _saw_ him, and a massive wave of cheering erupted.  Tony whirled, his heart pounding as he scanned the crowd pushing even closer to the barricades.  Steve was utterly terrified.  It had to be Ty.  Steve had to have seen him.  _Steve had seen him._

Ty had to be out there!

But all Tony saw was a sea of strangers, a huge crowd of reporters and fans and supporters, all impatiently waiting for information about their hero.  They were waving signs, ones filled with words of encouragement.  They were shouting now that they had a glimpse of the Avengers as a whole.  There was no obvious threat.  No danger.  No nothing.

Except the cameras rolling.  _Filming._   Lights flashing.  People watching, staring, so close.  With the glass as pristinely clean as it was, it was almost like there was nothing keeping them out at all.  Nothing between them and the lobby.  Nothing between them and Steve.

_He’s mine._

“Happy!” Tony cried, getting himself in front of Steve.  That mask, the calm façade, cracked completely, and the panic surged to the surface, and Tony felt his own hysteria rise.  “JARVIS, lock everything down!  Get the building on lockdown!”

Pepper rushed away, trying to get to the revolving door to control the situation gracefully, but it was too late.  Instantly the metal security panes on the windows throughout the lobby descended, blocking the view of everyone on the street, and she couldn’t get out.  “Damn it, Tony!” she cried.  She fumbled with her phone, dialing Happy where he was just outside, ordering him to keep the crowd calm and assure them there was nothing wrong.

 _Everything_ was wrong.  Steve struggled with Thor, who was hesitantly trying to get his arms around him to calm him.  Because he wasn’t trying too hard, Steve slipped out of his grasp and punched him across the face.  Tony grimaced at the sound of it, and Thor actually went down from the blow.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck–_

“Is the press contained out there?” Hill cried, retreating from the rapidly devolving situation to go to Pepper’s side.  She was still on the phone with Happy.  “Did they see Rogers?  This can’t get out!”

Natasha had her hands up in a nonthreatening show, approaching Steve slowly.  “Steve, easy!  Easy!”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Clint said, standing right beside her and watching with wary eyes.  “Come on.  Take it easy.  You know us.”

“Get away from me!” Steve screamed.  His voice was shrill, twisted in panic and pain.  He was staring at them, but he wasn’t seeing them, backing up, too consumed in the flashback to even realize where he was or that no one meant him any harm.  “Get away!  _Get away!”_

“You know us,” Clint insisted again.  “It’s alright.  You know us!”

Wordlessly Steve wailed, throwing a sloppy punch that Clint agilely avoided.  He swung at Natasha, too, and she also dodged the strike with tears in her eyes.  “Steve, please,” she begged.  “Don’t.”  Steve shook his head frenetically, looking at her but clearly not recognizing her.  “Don’t, Steve.  It’s Nat.  It’s Nat!  You’re safe!”

He didn’t believe her.  He staggered away, sobbing and shaking, trying in a blind panic for the stairs to the left.

Thor was already on his feet and blocking the way.  “You know us,” he repeated with a surprising amount of calm in his deep tone.  “You know we will not hurt you.  You must calm down.”

“He can’t,” Hill snapped.  She was visibly flustered at the display, which was something for her.  “We need to get him out of here before someone sees this!”  Like that wasn’t fucking obvious.  She glanced at Bruce.  “Can you do something?”

“Like what?  Drug him?” Bruce spat.  His eyes flashed from where he stood near the back of the altercation, obviously trying to stay out of the fray in the event that Steve accidentally lashed out at him.  The consequences of that would be devastating.  “No way in hell am I going to subject him to that when he can’t consent–”

 “Someone call Madson!” Hill ordered.  “Stark, unlock the Tower so we can handle the press!”

Tony didn’t hear her.  He watched Thor block Steve’s attempts to get around him, the demigod somehow managing to prevent Steve fleeing while appearing completely unaggressive.  It didn’t matter.  Hill was right; Steve was too far gone, too lost up in the trauma and dissociated, to notice.  He backpedaled, tripping over his own feet and going down onto his knees before scrambling away back toward the elevator, avoiding them all even though he could have fought and won.  Even as weakened as he was, he could have.  But he didn’t.  He just clumsily skittered across the floor, twisting and turning onto his rear and watching them in sheer terror as he tried to escape.  It was horrifying and heart-breaking all at once, far and away the worst incident like this that Steve had had in the last couple weeks.

And Tony just watched, dead inside.

Eventually Steve’s back hit the rear of the elevator.  He crawled over into the corner, curling into himself and pressing as much into the wall as he could.  He had his arms up and over his head protectively, and he was weeping, succumbing to the fact that there was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do to save himself.

“Jesus,” Clint whispered.

For some reason, that was what got Tony moving.  He was exposed, vulnerable, shaken to his core, but the fear that Ty was there – _he’s outside_ – wasn’t strong enough to control him.  It couldn’t be.  _Ty wasn’t outside._

And Steve was right here and needed him.

Tony pushed through the team where they were crowded around the open elevator doors.  He stepped inside.  “JARVIS, close the doors.”

A rush of complaints struck him.  “Tony, you need to release the lockdown!”

“Wait, Stark!”

“What about–”

Tony was already inside the elevator, and the doors shut behind him.  Steve jerked at the sound, but then everything became quiet and still.  The noise from the lobby was completely muffled, reduced to a distant, nonthreatening hum of indecipherable words and voices.  It was just the two of them, alone in the box of the elevator.  No one could get in.  Tony caught his breath.  He didn’t move, couldn’t move.  The pervasive sense of everything closing in, like this was a prison cell in which they were both trapped, attacked him.  For a second standing there was all he could do to keep sane.  Stand.  _Breathe._

_No one can hurt us._

Minutes bled away.  Tony exhaled slowly, one breath after another.  He dropped down to his knees, wrinkling his expensive suit as he crept closer to his husband.  It was remarkable that Steve could make his tall frame so small, but he had.  Small and helpless and utterly terrified.  Tony stopped a few inches away, sitting beside Steve, once again close enough to offer comfort but not so close as to touch him.  Instead he watched for a moment, watched Steve shiver under the shield of his arms, curled over his knees.  He couldn’t see Steve’s face, but he could imagine it, eyes squeezed shut and pale skin bathed in sweat and expression tight with pain.  Tony sighed again, closing his eyes and leaning his head into the wall behind him.  “This is my fault,” he whispered.

Steve shivered and recoiled more.  “Is…”  His strangled whimper sounded thunderous.  “Are they coming, Tony?  Is – is he…”

He didn’t know.  He couldn’t be sure.  Ty could be out there.  Ty _could_ be coming.  He couldn’t lie.  “I won’t let them hurt you if they are.  I won’t let him touch you.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Steve whispered.

“I told you, love.  You don’t have to.  You don’t have to do anything.”

Steve raised his face ever so slightly, revealing tear streaks down his face and wide, desperate eyes.  “Don’t let them do this to me.  Please get me out of here,” he begged.  “Please, Tony!  Please take me home!”

Tony went cold.  “Baby.  Sweetheart.”  Now he couldn’t stand to keep his distance, moving to his knees in front of Steve and rubbing his arms.  “You are home.”  And then it dawned on him.  This gray place with no way out.  It really wasn’t much bigger than where they’d kept Steve back in Ty’s lab.  He’d seen videos of Steve huddled in the corner of his cell just like he was now.  And JARVIS had said he’d talked to Tony.  _Imagined_ Tony.  Probably begged him then, too, when he’d been so alone and scared and probably delirious from pain and torture.  He’d begged Tony to save him.  _Oh, God._

“They’re out there,” Steve gasped between ragged sobs.  “He’s out there.  They’re coming.  They’re gonna…  I don’t want to go back in the machine!”

“You’re not,” Tony said firmly.  “You’re not!  This is real.  I brought you home.”

Steve barked a sob.  “Scared, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes burned.  “I know!”

“Wish they’d…”  Steve’s voice broke in anguish.  “Wish they’d kill me already.”

“God, Steve.  You don’t think that.  You don’t _ever_ think that!”

“Why aren’t you coming?  Please take me home!”

Tony didn’t know what he could say.  There wasn’t anything.  Some part of him knew that, knew that Steve needed time to come back to him, but it was hard to accept it.  It was always so goddamn hard.  “I came.  I brought you home,” he declared with as much confidence as he could muster.  It wasn’t much.  “You’re home, and you’re safe.  Believe me.  I’m here, Steve.  We’re home.  He can’t touch you here.”  He was back to saying this again, promising it, and he wasn’t any more certain of it now than he had been before.  _Ty’s out there.  Ty’s not dead._

_How can I make him believe that when I don’t even believe it?_

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping himself around Steve as much as he could, tucking Steve’s head and shoulders under him.  He should have done more.  Taken Steve back up right away.  Gotten him out of the elevator and back into their penthouse.  Gotten him to the doctors, to the therapists.  Gotten him help.

But he couldn’t.  He was so numb, so lost, that he couldn’t think.  Couldn’t move.  All he could do was keep saying the same useless bullshit.  “He didn’t break us.  He didn’t…  He didn’t…”

Steve moaned.  He was limp with exhaustion, clinging out of instinct more than anything else, pressing his fingers into Tony’s shoulders and back hard enough to hurt.  It was just more pain on top of so much already.  _So much._   Tony crumpled under it, cracking, falling apart like the fucking failure he was.  It was all too strong, the pain and the fear, the fucking _helplessness,_ and he couldn’t fight anymore.  “He didn’t break us.  He didn’t – he–”

Words.  Useless hopes.  Senseless confidence.  Shallow promises.  They were broken.  They had been all this time.

Tony’s voice utterly failed him, and a heavy sob came out instead.  He buried his face into Steve’s hair, clutching at Steve’s head, at every part of him he could reach.  They both quaked, grasping one another tightly, trapped together in this prison.  And they wept openly and unabashedly.

Outside, nobody heard them crying.

* * *

There was irony in hitting rock bottom, too.  From down there, a man could gain new perspective.

The press conference was canceled.  Hill and Pepper considered running it themselves, but frankly after what happened, neither them nor the rest of the team felt up to it or right about doing it.  Thankfully the media hadn’t caught wise as to what had really happened in the lobby, though the abrupt, unexplained postponement had them all theorizing anew about what was going on with the Avengers and Captain America.  They could speculate all they wanted.  Whatever they came up with, hopefully it would tide the public over until they could try this again.

Tony was shocked that he was even considering that, that there would be a later or a next time.  He was, though.  He was… calm, surprisingly.  Grounded for the first time in what felt like forever.  He didn’t know why exactly.  It wasn’t as if anything had changed.  If anything, things had taken a tremendous step backwards between the argument he and Steve had had that morning and the disaster at the press conference.  The questions he had, the doubts tormenting him, the fears driving him…  It was all still there.

He just felt more capable of ignoring them and focusing on the truth.  It was like the minutes he’d spent holding Steve and crying so deeply, listening to Steve cry hard with him…  Inexplicably, that had been restorative.  Like all the poison in his mind and heart had been expunged with those heavy sobs and burning tears.  Everything he’d been holding inside, the guilt and the terror and barely controlled panic, was quieter.  Not gone, exactly, but tolerable.  Not so heavy and demanding.  He felt freer.  Above it all.  _A new perspective._   What Rhodey had told him that morning was making more sense now.  He had to be present.  Whether or not Ty had survived and was still out there, still a threat, didn’t matter so much.  He could function not knowing.

He could handle it.

After crying in the elevator for quite some time, Tony had finally had the presence of mind to act.  He had JARVIS release the building’s lockdown and bring the lift back to the penthouse.  Natasha and Thor were there, along with Madson, his team, and the doctors.  Steve had calmed down considerably, but he’d completely shut down, too.  He was detached again, not unlike how he had been when he’d first woken from the induced coma in the hospital.  With Tony’s arm around him, he walked lifelessly back into their bedroom.  He flinched from touches.  He didn’t make eye contact.  Didn’t answer questions.  Didn’t speak at all.

Surprisingly, though, considering how much damage his panic attack had done to him, no one made a big deal about it.  Everyone rolled with it, adapted to it, stayed composed and collected.  Tony guided Steve into one of the chairs in the sitting area, Natasha following with a bottle of water and Thor with a blanket to help with the shock that had Steve trembling and unable to get warm.   As the doctors started taking his vitals, Madson asked for some time alone with him.  Tony hesitated to give it.  He backed away, though, and left Steve with the therapist who was already talking to him in gentle tones and touching with a tender, compassionate hand.  The doctors would look over him, and Madson would help him back from the dark places inside.

Outside the bedroom, Natasha and Thor were waiting.  Natasha undoubtedly noticed Tony’s red, teary eyes and rumpled clothes, splotched with wetness.  He was in a complete disarray, and everything that had happened in the elevator was starkly obvious on his face.  She didn’t comment, though.  She simply asked, in a fearful, trembling tone, “Is he okay?”

Tony sighed, staring at their closed bedroom door.  “I think so.”

Eventually they went down to the common room.  Everyone else was there, Clint and Bruce, Rhodey and Hill and Pepper and Happy.  Hill frowned sadly.  “Sorry, Stark,” she said.  She still looked shaken.  “I shouldn’t have been so angry.”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to be angry in return.  Hill apologizing like this was a major thing, and he knew it.  “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t know he’d asked to come down,” Hill quietly added.  Bruce frowned where he stood and stared morosely out the window at the gray, rainy day.  Obviously he’d told them what had happened before the press conference.  Maria shook her head.  “You think he saw Stone out in the crowd?”

As much as Tony feared that, he had to be reasonable.  He had to be honest.  “No.  I think…  It was just too much for him.”  He didn’t explain anything more.  He was fairly certain the cameras had played a significant role in triggering Steve’s flashback, but SHIELD (and the rest of the Avengers) still didn’t know about the videos Tony had of Steve’s captivity, and he wasn’t about to let the cat out of the bag on that one.

Thankfully the others were too rattled to press.  “Is it possible he _was_ out there?” Hill asked carefully.

That seemed an odd question from the very same people who’d done nothing but try to convince him of Ty’s death for the past few weeks.  And it went to the heart of the matter.  _No one_ was sure.  However, again, he had to be honest.  Paranoia feeding paranoia was at the heart of the problem.  “No.  I don’t think so, not with Happy out there and JARVIS scanning.”

It was hardly anything, but Hill seemed relieved.  “There’s still no sign of him anywhere else.  Fury’s sending out teams to check the area around the battle site in Fairbanks again.”

“I take it you told him about what happened today,” Tony surmised without any heat.

Hill nodded.  “Cap’s peace of mind is worth another search effort,” she said, and it felt good to hear that.  Obviously Steve’s panic attack had rattled her and Fury into rethinking their certainty about Ty.

It had rattled everyone and casted doubt on everything.  “I’ve got people checking out the crowd,” Happy said.  He stood with Pepper at the breakfast bar, nursing a cup of coffee.  “Although I guess if that asshole’s still got that suit, it’s possible no one saw him.  And that our guys won’t see him now.”

“How’re you justifying that?” Clint asked quietly.  “These are news people, and they’ll ask questions about the questions you’re asking.”

“We’re telling them the truth,” Pepper answered.  “The White House cleared it.  Fury cleared it.  No details, just that the person who kidnapped Steve may still be on the loose and the government’s doing its best to stop it.  The public already knows Stone was involved.”

Rhodey shook his head darkly.  “I’m sure that’ll go over well.  It’s a minor miracle they didn’t see what really happened.”  He, too, seemed troubled, and he hadn’t even seen the panic attack.  He caught Tony’s eyes and sadly lowered his gaze.  “This is an awful lot of resources to spend if he is dead.  I’m not questioning the value in getting Cap some closure here, and of course if he is really out there we have to find him, but…  Odds are he’s not.”

 _Odds are._   “We all believed that about Steve, and it was a terrible mistake,” Thor said, stating the obvious for what felt like the millionth time.

“The fact that one seemingly rare and random event occurred doesn’t raise the probability of other unrelated and unlikely events occurring,” Bruce quietly reminded.  “It’s a logical fallacy.”

“I’d rather waste resources and be a fool than be wrong,” Clint quietly declared.  He glanced at Tony, as if he was looking for validation.  “And I’d rather be ready to fight than be caught by surprise.”

“That’s Ellis’ thought process, as well.  It’s his opinion that releasing some details might actually flush Stone out,” Hill explained.  “If he’s alive to be flushed out, that is.  But no matter what it might get more people involved in the search.  More eyes and more ears.  The Director of the FBI agreed.  So did Fury.  He thought it was about time everyone did something to help.”

Natasha was concerned, her eyes narrowed warily.  “They’re not–”

“Minimum details,” Pepper consoled.  “The White House doesn’t know everything, and what they do know will be kept confidential.  The press secretary will be giving a stripped-down version of the events along with a plea to the people for their aid in locating Stone.”  She looked at Tony.  “That’s it.  The President swore to me that Steve’s privacy would be protected.”

Tony nodded gratefully at her, his awful behavior from that morning haunting him anew.  “Thanks,” he murmured.  He smiled weakly.  “And sorry.”

Much to his surprise, she smiled weakly, too.  Despite how rotten he’d been, a simple sorry was somehow enough.  It shouldn’t be.  She deserved so much more, _so much more_ than that.  That shameful sense of inadequacy spurred him to keep talking.  “And I’m sorry to the rest of you, too.”  His gaze drifted over the team.  Bruce, who was turning from the window with his arms folded across his chest.  Natasha, who was leaning in fatigue against the kitchen counter.  Clint, his hand on her shoulder and his face broken with guilt.  Thor, who frowned in grief.  Tony took a deep breath.  “I’ve been treating you guys like shit ever since we got Steve back.  Hiding stuff and ignoring what you’ve been telling me and lashing out like I did yesterday.  I’ve been fucking up left and right, doing exactly what I did before only worse because the most important thing, the thing I need to protect, is right in front of me.  It’s Steve, and it’s you guys, and I’m not doing right by any of you.  I wish I could do something to fix that, say something to erase it, but I can’t.  I can’t say anything more than I’m really, _really_ sorry.”

Clint shook his head.  “Tony, God…  You don’t need to apologize.  Who the hell are we to tell you how to handle this?”  Hearing that from him, the one who’d taken the brunt of his shit the other morning, was tough.  Tony didn’t need anyone to excuse his behavior, and he definitely didn’t need anyone validating the awful nonsense he’d spewed out.  “This was our fault.  It was SHIELD’s op, our op, and we were supposed to have his back, and–”

“No.”  Tony didn’t want to hear it.  It had been said so many times, by Natasha and Clint, by Fury, by Thor and Bruce.  He’d said it himself.  _It’s my fault._   “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is.”  He’d said that before, too.  Now it was more than just empty solace.  Now he believed it.  “It’s done.  We have to move on.”

Natasha sighed.  “How?” she asked quietly.

There was no answer.  That was the sad fact of it.  There _wasn’t_ an easy answer.  For a whole year they’d all been struggling to move on, to live in the wake of losing Steve, and now that they had him back…  “We just have to,” Tony eventually said.

_Keep going.  The rest will come._

The silence persisted for a little longer, but then the team began to speak quietly.  “We should devise a better plan to secure the building,” Thor suggested, looking to the others for confirmation.  It almost seemed like he was moving just to move, working simply to feel useful.  “Until we know for certain Stone is dead, we should remain vigilant.”

Happy went right to the wall-mounted display they typically used for entertainment.  He tapped at his phone, and in short order he was throwing his security plans to the monitor.  Thor, Bruce, and Hill came to flank him, staring at the data and sharing their opinions.  Clint grasped Natasha’s shoulder gently before joining them, adding what he knew about SHIELD and the FBI’s search efforts.  Apparently for being so certain that Stone had to be dead, he was keeping closely apprised of the manhunt, so he had all sorts of information of where and how SHIELD was searching.  Pepper’s cell phone rang, and she answered it immediately.  It sounded like her contacts in Washington, DC, and she was calm and steady as she spoke with them, consulting on the contents of the President’s press conference.

Natasha came to stand at Tony’s side.  With the hum of soft conversation behind them, they stared out at the cold November day.  It was raining again, fat drops splattering on the window panes.  “Are you okay?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

Tony didn’t feel like lying.  “Not really.  No.”

“We have to find an answer about this.”  Her voice was soft.  She still seemed very shaken, though she was hiding it well.  “About Stone.  Even if Steve…  Even if it wasn’t seeing Stone in the crowd that set him off, we need closure.  We need to know if he’s really dead.  For Steve.  For you.  We need to find the truth.”

Tony caught Rhodey’s gaze where his friend was standing near the others as they looked over the security data.  He sighed deeply, thinking again about what the other man had said.  “There may not be one, Tash.  I know that’s not what we want to hear, but…  Christ.  I wish I knew what to do.  I feel like that fucker’s still torturing us.  He’s still hurting Steve.  I wish I knew how to stop that.  I only know that doing what I’ve been doing, living like this…  That’s making it worse.  It took today for me to see that.”  _Hitting bottom._ He sighed, turning back to the gray sky and the rain coating the windows.  The clouds were so low that everything seemed endless, formless, a dismal, forlorn void that was consuming the city.  “I can’t protect Steve like this.  I have to let it go.”  _I have to trust._   And this wasn’t just about trusting someone else or an organization.  It wasn’t even about the facts.  It was about trusting something he couldn’t see and couldn’t feel.  Something he couldn’t know.  He had to trust that everything would work out.

“Can you?”

Tony closed his eyes.  He was so tired, so spent.  Dizzy.  “I have to try.”  _If I can’t, no one will._

They didn’t speak for a long moment.  Behind them the conversation was still going.  Tony could hear Thor talking about maybe enlisting some help from Asgard.  Hill mentioning that SHIELD had eyes on everything.  JARVIS supplying more information about the security systems he’d implemented, explaining their purposes to the others.  Tony thought he should go over there and help with that.  That awful feeling of being watched came back – _Ty’s eyes in the crowd_ – and he shivered.

Natasha took his hand, squeezing gently, and Tony opened his eyes.  For a second it seemed like the glass of the window wasn’t there, like he was falling again, tumbling into the gray emptiness around the Tower.  But she had a firm grip on his hand, and that was enough to ground him.  _You’re not alone._

He waited a little longer before going back upstairs.  The team was engrossed in the discussion about the manhunt, the security measures, and the latest reactions and speculations of the press to the President’s upcoming announcements, so they didn’t notice Tony leave.  Once more Tony probably should have been more involved with that they’d decided, and he definitely should have watched the White House’s statement, but he didn’t.  Instead he trudged wearily up to the penthouse.  JARVIS had notified his phone that the medical team and Madson were finishing up, so now was a good time to go back.

Madson and the doctors met him in the living room of their suite.  If they noticed how wrecked he looked, they wisely chose not to say anything.  “How is he?” Tony asked.

“Physically fine,” Madson responded softly.  He held Tony’s gaze.  “And calm, which is good.   He’s reconnected with reality.  I think his distance now is more emotional than mental.  He’s depressed.  Ashamed.”

“He has no reason to be,” Tony muttered, angry with himself all over again for how things had happened.

“No,” Madson agreed.  “Mr. Stark, you–”

“Shouldn’t have let him do this,” Tony finished wearily.  “Yeah, I know.  Can you skip tearing me a new one?  It’s been a shit day so far, and it’s barely even lunchtime.”

Madson sighed.  “You did what you thought he needed.  I can’t fault you for that.  Sometimes we have to experience our own limitations rather than be told them.  The fact that he wanted to try, that he was stubborn enough to insist, is encouraging.”  He gave a small, wry smile.  “Though I didn’t quite mean this when I mentioned getting him out of the Tower.”

 _Getting him out of the Tower._   Madson said a few more things, advising Tony on dealing with Steve the rest of the day, reminding him to keep expectations within reason considering the trauma the morning had caused, telling him to keep things quiet and lowkey, saying he’d be back in a couple hours to check on them.  Tony barely heard it.  A few minutes later, the penthouse was empty and so very quiet.

The quiet was okay, though.  Or, at least, it would be.  It would be.  He walked to their bedroom.  “JARVIS, let everyone know I’m taking care of Steve now.  If they need me, they can call, but I’m…  It should be important.  They can handle keeping an eye on things.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS quietly answered.  “Shall I inform you of the reaction to the White House’s statement?  I also have the results of the latest security scans ready.”

Tony closed his eyes, pausing outside their door.  “Later.”  He slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.

The room was dark and a little cool.  Silent.  Steve was on the bed, curled onto his side and facing the windows.  Tony couldn’t see his face from where he was.  Exhaling slowly, he took off his suit jacket and dumped it on the floor as he walked over.  Then he toed off his shoes while he untucked his dress shirt and ditched his tie.  Steve didn’t move, didn’t seem to react at all to Tony approaching.  Tony could see that he was shivering.  Aching inside, he climbed into bed.  For a second he wondered if he should be careful, if he shouldn’t touch Steve right now.

But he needed to.  He wanted to.  _He had to._ The thought of losing all the progress they’d made was too terrible.  So he laid down right next to Steve, spooning around his back.  He noticed now that Steve was dressed in his favorite sweatshirt.  The “Property of Stark Industries” one.  The one Tony had kept close when Steve had been gone.  He didn’t know if Steve had put it on purposefully or if one of the doctors had happened to dress him in it to help keep him warm.  Seeing the familiar plush, gray fabric, feeling its softness under his palms as Tony slowly wrapped his arms around Steve from behind…  It felt really good.  An affirmation.  A promise that all was not lost.

Steve wasn’t sleeping.  He was really shaking hard, though, and Tony didn’t know if it was from the touch of chilliness in the room or the emotional shock of what had happened.  It didn’t matter why.  He reached down to grab the duvet where it was gathered down by their feet and pulled it up over them both.  Steve curled tighter into himself, burying his face into the pillow and under his arms.  Tony watched sadly, closing his eyes against the sting of fresh tears.  How could there be anything left to cry?  And how many times had he wondered that over the last year?

_No crying.  No more._

He heaved a shaky sigh, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist, curling it over his hip just as he had the night before when everything had started to fall apart.  The memory of his nightmare – of seeing Ty touch Steve like this – only fueled him now.  It was possessive and protective, and he didn’t let himself be afraid of how strongly he felt those things.  Again he slid his hand up Steve’s left thigh, up his hip, and around his stomach.  Steve shuddered.  Tony nosed the back of his head before kissing there and again on his neck.  Then he buried his face in the fabric of the sweatshirt between Steve’s shoulders and breathed as deeply as he could.  He closed his eyes and just did that.  Breathe.

“You were right.”

Steve’s shaky whisper was inexplicably loud in the emptiness.  Tony opened his eyes, pressing his hand firmer to Steve’s stomach.  He felt every shivery movement, every halting breath.  “You were right.  Should’ve listened.  Should’ve…  I’m not ready.  I – I can’t be Captain America again.”

“Shhh,” Tony hushed.  He squeezed Steve tighter.  “Don’t think about that right now.”

“Fucked up.”  Steve so rarely swore like that.  He choked on a sob.  “’m so sorry.”

“No, honey.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Just don’t worry.  Don’t think.  You’re alright, Steve.  You’re alright.  Shhh.”

For a long moment, it felt like Steve would simply break apart again.  He was shivering so hard, breathing through vicious sobs that threatened, shattering right in Tony’s embrace.  But he didn’t.  He didn’t because Tony held him and touched him and whispered comfort.  “We’re both alright,” he promised.  “We’ll get through this together.  I know we can.  Just have to stay present.  Stay with one another.  I let you down, love.  I lost sight of what matters most.  I got so caught up in making sure you were safe that I didn’t make you _feel_ safe.  I got so consumed with what happened and what could have happened that I ignored what is happening.  I won’t let that happen again.  I swear to you.  I’m going to…”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m going to make this right.  We’ll go.  How’s that sound?  If you feel trapped, we’ll get away.  We’ll go anywhere you want to go.  I’ll take you some place where you can relax.  No one around for miles.  Just you and me.  You can rest.  Feel better.  _Get_ better.  I know you can.  And it’ll be alright.  I swear, Steve.  Steve?”

Steve had fallen asleep.  Tony propped himself up a bit to look down on him, finding his face lax with the lines of pain and distress finally gone.  He stared a moment before raising his hand from beneath the covers to wipe away the tears drying on Steve’s cheeks with the pad of his thumb.  “I’m going to make this right,” he said again.  “We’re fighting him together.  _Together._   And he’s not winning.  Not again.  Dead or alive, he’s not taking you from me ever again.”

_Not your heart.  Not your soul._


	18. Chapter 18

**PART THREE**

Tony had a dream.

_“Tony Stark!  My God, it’s been years!”_

In it, Ty sauntered into his workshop, just as he had that day before he kidnapped Steve more than a year ago.  He was wearing that expensive gray Armani suit with the white dress shirt and blue tie.  His hair was slicked back.  His cologne was overpowering.  He looked good, suave and charming and powerful.  He looked like a man someone – _Tony_ – could look up to.

_“Actually, I was just in the neighborhood.  Thought I’d stop by.  Say hello.”_

But this time, Tony saw the other things.  The things he’d missed before.

_“That’s really how you’re going to treat your old friend?”_

The things he’d convinced himself couldn’t be more than Ty just being Ty.  Ty being backhanded and condescending and smug.  Ty being an asshole, just as he had been when they were kids, just as he was every time they’d crossed paths since. 

_“Men like us…  We can buy whatever we want, have whatever we want, have people scramble over themselves to serve us and adore us, take most anything in the world just because of who we are and how important what we do is.  But it’s not always enough.  Things change, and in the end you can lose everything.”_

This wasn’t just one more of those times.  In his dream, he’d see that.

_“Okay, okay, just teasing.  Like old times, Tones.”_

He wouldn’t let that convince him.

_“I really did just want to see you.  And I’d really like to meet Steve.  That’s it.  He seems like a great guy.”_

He wouldn’t write everything off as Ty messing with him.  As Ty being creepy to manipulate him.  He wouldn’t.

_“Getting old sucks.  You try to postpone it, try to ignore it, spend a ton of money to stave it off.  But you grow old and you die.  You can’t stop it, can you?”_

He’d see that for the taunt it was, read deeper into the sadistic gleam in Ty’s eyes. 

_“I think about it sometimes.  What it’d be like to live forever.”_

He was smarter.  Wiser.  He’d see the truth.

_“We used to be such good friends, Tones.”_

And he’d do something about it.

_“So I just thought we could get together.  Catch up on old times.  We’ve both changed so much.”_

Ty hadn’t changed.  He’d never change.

_“And I’d like to meet Captain America.”_

_Never._

_“Surprised you don’t have better tabs on him.”_

And that would be it.  In his dream, he’d summon Iron Man’s gauntlet in the blink of an eye.  In his dream, he’d power up the palm repulsor cannon.  He’d aim it at Ty.  Ty would look terrified, panicked, stunned that Tony had seen through his lies and taunts.  He’d raise his hands in a surrender that came too late, open his mouth to beg or explain, but Tony wouldn’t listen.  He’d know better.  He’d simply shoot him, burn him.  _Kill him._

So, in his dream, everything ended right then and there.  He stopped Ty.  Stopped him from staging Steve’s death and taking Steve away from him.  Stopped him from ruining Steve.  Stopped this catastrophe before it had even started.   _Stopped everything._   That way, none of the hell he’d lived…  His love and therefore his life taken from him.

None of that _ever_ happened.

… It was a good dream.

* * *

They ended up going to the beach house in the Florida Keys.  It was an older place, one that Howard had purchased after the war when he was on a quest to own everything in sight.  He and Tony’s mother had vacationed there often before he was born.  Tony had been there once or twice as a kid.  Honestly he’d never much cared for the place.  It had been well kept up over the years, nicely maintained and modernized as all of the Stark properties were, but Tony had always found the location very boring.  It was miles from everywhere, very secluded on a stretch of private beach that went nearly a mile in either direction.  And that was all there was: sand and palm trees and pretty, tropical flora and the aquamarine glitter of water.  A private dock, of course, and an equally private lagoon and pool.  Calling it a beach house was something of an understatement, as things like that always were when it came to the Stark family’s many homes across the States and the world.  Still, despite the size and opulence, there was nothing around, and as a kid, that had been incredibly dull.

Right now Tony was nothing but glad for the solitude.  Pepper and Hill were handling the fall-out from the press conference fiasco, and he was happy to let them.  Thankfully, no one had really seen Steve lose his cool in the lobby, though the abrupt end to the conference did have people speculating even with the White House’s statement.  The statement, at least, was exactly as Pepper had assured it would be.  President Ellis himself had made it in the White House’s press room, thus the nation and the world at large had heard it.  And he relayed the basic details: Steve had been kidnapped by Tiberius Stone for the purpose of scientific experimentation.  Stone had attempted to extract the super soldier serum from him over the course of a year, without success to the knowledge of SHIELD and government investigators.  Steve had been badly abused and injured but was now recovering in the care of SHIELD and the Avengers.  Stone was thought to be dead, but the government, SHIELD, and other law enforcement agencies both domestic and international were working to confirm that conclusion.  Any information the public could provide as to Stone’s whereabouts or condition would be greatly appreciated.  No further statements were made and no questions were answered.  Simple and non-inflammatory.  It was a relief.

The world was still buzzing with it, though, and rumors were spreading like wildfire now that there was confirmation of some facts and new information to digest.  Tony knew that social media and news outlets alike were positively alive with theories and questions, but he wasn’t paying attention to the particulars.  No, he left that to the others.  And he left making sure they were safe to the others.  And the search for Ty.  He left _everything_ to them as he probably should have from the beginning and focused on the peace and quiet.  He focused on Steve.  Steve needed that, needed Tony’s attention.  After the disaster with the press conference, he’d become incredibly withdrawn again.  He was hardly interacting with anyone.  Not the team.  Not the doctors.  Not even Tony.  He’d remained completely detached as they’d packed for their trip, had offered up no opinion on where they should go.  Of all the (many) choices, Tony had picked the Keys.  Other locations were too populated and exposed.  The lodge in Aspen was remote, but it was November and would therefore be pretty chilly and wet, and Steve seemed to have an even greater aversion to all things cold than he had before he’d been kidnapped.  The private island down in the Caribbean was _too_ remote, considering the rest of the team wanted to stay close and the medical staff also needed to be nearby just in case.  So the Keys made sense.  It was quiet, warm, beautiful and tropical and new to Steve so therefore free of any association with what had been taken from him.

Sadly, though, it didn’t seem to be doing much good.  They’d been in the mansion for a couple days now, and Steve wasn’t any better.  Physically he was okay.  Not great, but okay.  Not eating much.  Sleeping _too_ much (and not sleeping peacefully.  His nightmares were crushing sometimes, and he never talked about them or let Tony comfort him).  He spent most of his days either in bed or staring out the magnificent windows of the master suite, bundled up in a hoodie despite the warm Florida air.  There was a perpetually vacant glaze to his eyes.  If he wasn’t in this awful catatonia, he was pacing the length of the room like a caged animal.  It was like that.  He seemed to vacillate between restlessness and complete lethargy, and nothing Tony said or did in either scenario seemed to make any difference.  Tony knew it was depression.  He was familiar with its cruel whims far too intimately himself not to recognize it.  It was depression and PTSD and anxiety all mixed up together in a cocktail of emotional and psychological trauma.  Steve was in it deeply, suffering silently.  It was like his failure to do the press conference had shattered whatever sense of progress he’d made, and now he couldn’t get it back.  He couldn’t even muster the energy or composure to try.  Every attempt Tony made to talk with him was met with silence, every touch ignored, every kiss unanswered and unwanted.  All his gentle prodding and soft concern and unwavering love was disregarded.  It wasn’t done maliciously.  At least, Tony didn’t think it was.  No, he was fairly certain Steve was just lost, pure and simple, and Tony didn’t know how to get him back.

It was seriously upsetting, but Tony was ardently trying not to be discouraged.  He was in constant contact with Madson, who told him this sort of setback was to be expected.  Steve had struck a major roadblock in his recovery.  He’d seen for himself that he couldn’t just _get better._   He couldn’t simply ignore the pain he was feeling.  He couldn’t just return to work, go back to being Captain America, like nothing had happened.  This illusion he’d had, one that had been supported so much by how fast the serum had healed him, had been ripped away by his flashback.  It had been cruelly torn from his clutching fingers, utterly snatched out from under him, and all he was left with was the truth that he’d been so desperately trying to ignore: Ty had seriously damaged him, and that wasn’t just going away.  He couldn’t just soldier on.  He couldn’t just get back up and keep fighting the way he always did.  _He couldn’t._

And Tony _still_ didn’t know how to help him.  Even with Madson guiding him, this felt well beyond his capacity to handle.  The damage ran too deep, and once or twice during his weaker moments the panicked thought that maybe Steve needed to go back to a hospital, a _mental_ hospital, crossed his mind.  Someplace with expert care, where they could keep an eye on him in case…  _No._ Steve wouldn’t hurt himself, wouldn’t kill himself.  Christ, no.

But the depression was so consuming that it was simply terrifying.  Steve had moved past denial to this almost unhealthy state of acceptance.  With that had come the weighty press of defeat, and that was utterly crushing him.  Watching this happen for the last couple days was devastating.  Tony would rather have Steve angry, rather have him _fight_ , than succumb like he seemed to be doing.  This trip was meant to create an atmosphere of peace, of safety, but in the end, Tony was beginning to think he’d just moved Steve from one prison cell to another, only this time the confinement was of Steve’s own making.  He tucked away the idea of taking him back to the hospital.  It was against what he believed about a man’s pride and autonomy, and it was revolting and horrifying, but he’d do it if he had to.  If he couldn’t turn this around somehow.

He had to find a way turn it around.

It was just after lunch.  Tony had spent most of the morning idly working on some things for Project Greenlight in their suite, typing away on his laptop while he kept an eye on Steve.  Steve was sitting in one of the plush chairs by the French doors that led out to the granite veranda.  The huge in-ground pool, complete with fountains and magnificent tile and stone work, was just outside.  The day was gorgeous, picturesque really with the lush flowers and palm trees surrounding the pool bright and vibrant in the sunlight.  Instead of enjoying the fantastic weather and ridiculously huge, private space, though, Steve was just staring at it.  He hadn’t gotten dressed so far that day, still wearing a pair of sweat pants and that Stark Industries hoodie (it would have been funny and endearing how that was becoming Steve’s security blanket, just as it had for Tony when Steve had been gone, but nothing about any of this was funny or endearing).  Steve was a mess.  Looking so unkempt was completely unlike him.  His stubble was almost completely a beard now, and his hair had dried funky from his shower (the one Tony had basically insisted he take last night).  He hadn’t even brushed his teeth that morning.  He was so goddamn pale, eyes hollow and ringed in exhaustion.  It didn’t seem possible, but he seemed small and thin again, like the amount of muscle mass he’d regained was withering away anew.  And he was listless, lethargic, caught up in his head.  He’d moved to that chair right after he’d gotten up, stayed there through breakfast and lunch, and he was _still_ there, knees drawn up and eyes bleary as he watched a world he didn’t seem to recognize anymore.

It was breaking Tony’s heart.  He set down his phone, staring at his husband as he in turn stared so emptily out the windows, and heaved a soft sigh.  “Steve?”  Unsurprisingly, Steve didn’t answer.  A tiny shudder worked its way over him, but other than that, he didn’t move.  Tony pushed his wicker chair back from the gleaming table, leaving his work open as he rounded the seating area and went to Steve’s side.  These last couple days, he’d adapted, changed as much as he could with Steve’s changing moods, stepped back as Steve had stepped back.  It was hard to swallow his frustration and fear, but he had to.  Tony had to take everything slow again and be careful not to frighten or startle Steve.  Thus he gave Steve plenty of time to move away before gently touching his arm where he was hugging his knees to his chest.  He rubbed gently, too, trying to provide some comfort, some physical connection.  “Steve, sweetheart.  Are you cold?”

Steve didn’t answer.  He blinked a couple times, though, and turned his head toward Tony a little.  Tony lowered himself to a crouch beside him, rubbing his arm more firmly.  He smiled, forcing sunniness to the gesture.  “You know, it’s eighty degrees out there.  And that pool is warm.  Bet it’d feel really good to swim in it.  Get the chill out of you.”  Both Tony and Madson thought the chill that was psychosomatic more than anything.  Tony felt almost uncomfortably hot, sweating in his light, button-down, cotton shirt and khaki shorts.  He was keeping the internal temperature of the mansion higher for Steve’s sake.  “What do you think?”

Finally breaking free of his trance, Steve bit his lower lip and gave a jerky shake of his head.  Again Tony swallowed down his aggravation and anxiety.  He had to be calm and sure about this, about _everything._   He had to do better.  And, yeah, being this way wasn’t exactly in his nature.  He was still low-key obsessing about Ty, about whether or not he was dead, about if they were safe.  About if Ty had raped Steve.  And he was still suffering with his guilt, though he was dealing with that much better than he had been.  He’d nursed Steve back from the brink of death in the hospital.  Gotten him eating again.  Walking again.  _Talking_ again.  He’d done all that before he’d fallen down so deep in his own bullshit, so that was an existence proof that he could handle this.  Steve was following his lead, right?  That was what Bruce had said, what Madson said, too.  Therefore he had to lead, had to set the mood and tone.

So he kept up with the smile, softened it knowingly.  “Come on.  I could use a break.  Can only stand so much whining from R&D.  So let’s go together.”

Steve bit his lip harder and looked away.  “Can’t,” he whispered.

Tony came around to the front of him and pulled his arms away from his knees so he could hold his hands.  “Yeah, you can,” he reminded gently.  “And you should.  I didn’t come here to work, honestly, or to watch you stare outside like a zombie.  A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to keep you _in_ the house.”

“That was a year ago,” Steve argued weakly.  “I can’t now.”

“Yes, you _can_.”  Tony pulled his calves, freeing his knees from his chest with surprising ease.  He expected more of a fight, but he was starting to think that deep down Steve really was just lost and scared and in desperate need of someone to show him how to take those first steps, just as he had been when he’d woken from the coma.  His resistance was born from fear more than anything, and inside he was screaming for help.  Tony took his hands, sweeping his thumbs over Steve’s knuckles.  “You can, love.  Do you trust me?”

That was a tough topic, though Steve hadn’t said anything further about their argument days ago.  Tony was content to pretend it had never happened until he had to do otherwise.  “It’s not safe,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, it is,” Tony gently insisted.  “I know it is.”

“He’s–”

“Not here, so you don’t need to think about him.”  Ty’s fate was another tough topic, another one they hadn’t broached at all.  Tony couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – lie to Steve, and the truth was they still didn’t know anything for sure.  But just because they couldn’t be sure didn’t mean they had to let their uncertainty dictate their lives.  He was finally learning that.  “There’s nothing to worry about.  JARVIS is watching the entire property.  Nat and the others are around.  I’ve got Iron Man in a suitcase right in the closet.”  He really did, and Steve craned his neck a little to glance and make sure.  “So it’s fine.”  Tony kissed his fingers.  “Remember how nice it was to take that bath a couple weeks ago?  This is the same thing, only it’ll be fun, too.  It’ll feel really good to get out.  Get some sun.  Breathe the fresh air. Stretch your muscles.  Come on.  All you have to do is trust me.”

Steve stared at him fearfully a bit longer.  Unerringly Tony kept smiling, kept holding his gaze, kept rubbing Steve’s wedding ring with his thumb like that little motion could remind him the ring was there on his hand, that this was real.  Anchor him in the here and now.  It didn’t seem like it was working at first, but then to Tony’s immeasurable relief, Steve nodded.

Tony moved fast while he had Steve willing, heart flying with excitement but trying vehemently not to make a big deal about how important this was.  He had Steve brush his teeth and wash up while he fetched their swimming trunks from the wardrobe.  He brought Steve’s suit into the bathroom, blue with white Hawaiian flowers.  Steve actually balked at them with a touch of his old self.  “What?” Tony asked, doing everything in his power not to beam at the reaction.  “They’re tropical.  And you know what I think of you in blue.  Particularly your ass in blue.”

That comment just slipped out, and he worried for a moment that he’d gone too far, but Steve just took the swimwear with shaking hands and put it on.  Tony dressed too, nearly shivering with relief as he stuck his legs in his black trunks.  Then he grabbed a few beach towels, his sunglasses (wired directly to JARVIS of course), and some sunscreen.

Steve was hesitant to step out of their bedroom.  Tony could tell he was afraid of being shirtless outside, of being this exposed with the trunks (they were a little too big) low on his hips.  His hands were shaking as he tried to hold them higher and tie them tighter.  That goddamn miserable tremor was back, but Tony just smiled as he pushed Steve’s hands away and did the job himself.  Then he took a clean t-shirt from the closet, a gray one with _New York Yankees_ written across the chest.  “Sacrilege, I know.”  He put it over Steve’s head and watched as Steve got his arms in pretty gracelessly.  “Hopefully your moral indignation will drive you to take it off once we get out there.”

Steve frowned.  “Tony…”

Tony kissed him.  “Come on.”

Hand in hand, they headed to the French doors that led to the terrace.  Tony unlocked and opened them, and a wall of hot, humid air hit.  Tony made a show of breathing it in and appraising the scene before them.  “Beautiful day, huh?”  He was trying too hard, and it felt pathetic, but he couldn’t stop.

Steve didn’t seem to mind.  He was chewing his lower lip again, appraising the scene as well but for entirely different reasons.  He was looking at the shadows, looking at everything suspiciously with doubt in his eyes.  Tony didn’t know if it was because he was scared of being attacked or if he was back to not being sure the world was real.  Either way, it was his fucking fault for undoing whatever meager sense of security Steve had managed to find before.  If Tony hadn’t fought him about the press conference, maybe he wouldn’t have been so stubborn about doing it.  If Tony hadn’t been acting like a lunatic with the nightmares and the security measures and flat-out asking Steve if he’d been raped instead of trusting what he’d found out, maybe he wouldn’t have lost his bearings so badly.

 _Water under the bridge._   It seemed crass to think that, but it was.  There was no sense in dwelling and regretting, so he gestured before him.  “All yours.  Dad put this pool in…  I don’t know.  Twenty-five years ago?  It was right before he died.  Remodeled the whole place and made it ultra-fancy.  No one’s really ever used it, so… break it in, Rogers.”

Steve didn’t move.  Again, a year ago, that would have been a challenge, an invitation, and Steve probably would have thrown Tony over his shoulder before jumping in with a huge goofy smile and a big laugh.  Now…  “I can’t, Tony!”  He turned to go back in the bedroom without even crossing the threshold to the outdoors.

Tony grabbed his arm firmly.  “Yes, you can.”  This was the new thing he’d keep saying if he had to, as many times as he had to.  He had far more faith in it.  Promising that things would be alright was so vague and broad and dependent on so many variables.  This, though?  This was belief in Steve, and Tony could always manage that.  Always.  “You can.  Don’t be afraid.  We’ll do it together.”

That was enough to get Steve to stop running.  Tony slid his grip down Steve’s arm to his hand, weaving their fingers together.  “Together, love.”

So together they headed across the veranda, down the polished marble steps, and to the area around the pool.  Tony set their towels down on one of the chaise lounges, standing with his hands on his hips.  JARVIS scanned their surroundings as he glanced around.  Making a show of taking it in was a good way to hide that he was still more than a little worried.  The scanners on the sunglasses were significantly weaker than those on Iron Man or those he’d installed in the Tower, but they were good enough, attuned to motion, infrared, and the errant radiation signature from the Chameleon suit just in case.  There was nothing and no one.

And if he didn’t act relaxed, Steve never would.  His husband was standing next to the lounge, looking around with wariness that wasn’t at all masked.  Tony turned to him.  “Pretty spectacular if I do say so myself.  Dear old Dad knew how to spend it.  That’s one thing I am proud to have inherited from him.”  He fished the sunscreen from the pile of towels.  “Do me?”  Playfully he tossed the tube to Steve.

Steve floundered to catch it.  “Huh?”

“My back, babe.  Can’t reach it.  You don’t burn, but I do.  Well, I can.  I don’t actually, because I’m all kinds of awesome, but better be safe than sorry.  The capacity for sunburn happening exists.  Let’s just put it that way.  Which is still all kinds of unfair, by the way, since I’m not all Irishy white.  You’re so fair.  Get it?  It’s unfair because you’re fair.”  The pun (and babbling) was falling flat, but he grinned cheekily all the same.  “What’s the matter?  Did you think I was talking about what we did the _last_ time we went swimming together?  We can do that too, if you want.”  Steve was white as a sheet.  Tony dialed back his flirting, softening his smile.  “Or not.  Please help?”

It took Steve another moment to come closer.  Tony sat on the lounge, patiently waiting for Steve to do the same.  He did.  _Please._   Tony closed his eyes, praying that Steve would be okay enough to interact with him, even in this little way.  _Please, please, please…_ Eventually he heard the snick of the cap opening.  _Thank God._   Steve’s hands were on his back not long after, cold with slimy cream and timid and uncertain.  Tony closed his eyes and leaned back into him just a bit.  God, he hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel to have Steve touch him.  Most (maybe all, when he thought about it) of their contact up to this point had been initiated, controlled, and maintained by Tony.  This was fresh and new yet so wonderfully familiar, even if Steve’s touch was hesitant and stilted and his efforts minimal.

Steve worked his way up Tony’s back.  He finally rubbed the cream over his shoulders, his hands curling almost experimentally over the muscle and skin there as he massaged the sunscreen in slowly.  Like he was relearning.  Like he was reaffirming that Tony was there, that their connection was real.  Then he shivered.  He dropped his hands abruptly.  “Sorry,” he whispered.

Tony didn’t comment, twisting a little to capture Steve’s lips in a soft kiss.  He took the tube of cream from him as he broke away, smiled, and said, “Thanks.”  Quickly he squirted some of the white substance over his arms and chest, working it in hastily.  Once he was done, he stood up and grinned again.  “Ready?”

Steve clearly wasn’t.  He was torn between looking terrified of Tony, terrified of the wide, open space around them, and _really_ terrified of the water.  Tony leaned down to peck his lips.  Then he tugged Steve up with him and to the edge of the pool.  The water was crystal clear, very blue and very still.  Tony sat down on the edge, again coaxing Steve down.  Steve sat.  He didn’t put his feet in the water.  God, it killed Tony to see this.  Steve loved swimming, loved it with a passion.  Tony could still remember the first day he’d shown the team the exercise facilities at the Tower, the huge pool there, and how Steve’s eyes had gone wide with amazement and barely contained glee.  Tony had always thought it fortunate that the moments he’d spent drowning as the _Valkyrie_ had flooded and sank in 1945 hadn’t made him afraid of the water.

He was afraid now.  Tony knew why, of course.  The tank.  He was becoming increasingly certain Steve hadn’t been entirely unconscious during those months he’d been in cryostasis, at least not down deeply the whole time.  In the beginning of his recovery, he’d been so weak and overwhelmed that bathing thankfully hadn’t bothered him much.  These last few days…  The flashback had shaken all sorts of things loose from his mind.  “I’ll go in first,” Tony assured.  “Test the waters.  Okay?”

Steve was just staring at the pool.  He didn’t respond one way or the other, so Tony slipped in.  It was the shallower end of the pool, so his feet easily touched the bottom.  Unsurprisingly, Howard hadn’t installed an outdoor pool heating system given the climate of southern Florida.  The water was warm, not as hot as he’d hoped.  It wasn’t cold by any means, but he knew to Steve it would feel that way.

However, he’d gotten him this far, so he ventured out maybe a foot and turned around to beam at his husband.  “Feels good.  Ready?”

Still Steve stared, not at Tony but at the crystalline water itself.  Tony watched him expectantly, waiting and hoping, but he didn’t answer.  Didn’t move.  With a soft sigh, Tony waded closer to the side again and grasped Steve’s knees.  “Hey, sweetheart.  I know, okay?  I know this brings back things you’d rather forget.  But you’re not back there.  You’re here, with me, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“They put me in there,” Steve whispered.  “Left me there.  I didn’t…  I wasn’t…”

“I know.  You felt it, didn’t you?”  Steve swallowed heavily and nodded.  “You knew you were trapped in there.  I know.  This isn’t that.  It’s just a pool.  A really big one.  And the water’s warm and it’s a hot day and I’m here.  I swear to you I won’t let anything happen.  Okay?  Come in.”  Tony held out his hand, slick and dripping with water.  “Can you trust me?”

Steve’s chin quivered.  He seemed on the verge of bolting.  Tony didn’t rush him, didn’t push.  He stayed calm and patient, holding his hand out and waiting.  Finally Steve’s gaze shifted from the water to Tony’s inviting fingers and warm eyes.  Tony smiled.  “Come on, love.  I’ve got you.”

Steve took his hand and slowly, ever so slowly, put his feet in the water.  He shivered, jerked, clearly wanting to pull back out.  His knuckles were white where he gripped the polished, curved edge of the pool, and Tony feared for a second he’d crack the tile.  Whatever.  He came closer and rubbed Steve’s thigh.  “You got it.  Just water.  Just me.”

Again Steve swallowed and shivered.  He stared at his legs in the water, the way the liquid distorted the image of them ever so slightly.  Tony slid his hand down Steve’s leg to his calf and foot so he could _see_ this wasn’t the tank, wasn’t what his body might have looked like in the cryostasis fluid.  “Just me,” he promised again.

With that, Steve took a deep breath and pushed himself off.  It was pretty damn remarkable, and Tony’s heart pulsed with pride as he caught him and pulled him close.  Steve was shaking violently, clinging hard.  “Shhh.  Shhh.”  Tony wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back and tucking his head into his shoulder.  “It’s good.  It’s all good.  Hey!  You did it!”

Steve gasped something into Tony’s neck.  It could have been a sob or a laugh.  Or both.  Tony hushed him more, kissing his temple, rubbing soothing hands up and down his back.  He moved them out from the wall a little, going slowly so that Steve could get used to the water, to the sensation of floating.  That more than anything seemed to bring forth bad memories, and he clutched Tony harder, wrapped his legs around Tony’s thighs in panic.  “You’re crushing me, babe,” Tony huffed with a little laugh, trying to be facetious and light even though it was true.  Steve sobbed again.  _Jesus._   “You’re alright.  You can do this.”

“’s cold.”

“It’ll feel warmer when you get used to it.”  Steve didn’t seem sure of that.  His eyes were squeezed shut.  He hadn’t opened them once.  “Here.  Let’s get this off.”  Tony tugged Steve’s shirt up a little, but Steve resisted almost instantly, yanking it back down.  Tony sighed gently.  “Alright.  It’s alright.”  He cut his losses, happy enough to have Steve in the pool.  He was holding up all of Steve’s weight as they floated just barely off the wall.  Once he got him steadier, he started rubbing his arms, rubbing _every_ part of him he could for comfort and warmth.  “Take your time.  You’re alright.”

They took their time.  Tony surprised himself with his patience.  He was doing that a lot these last days.  He held Steve, listened to Steve breathe, felt Steve relax seemingly a muscle at a time.  After what seemed like forever, the quiet sounds of the water and the gentle breeze in the palms and the ocean whispering in the distance was all he could hear.  Steve wasn’t gasping anymore.  He wasn’t breathing hard at all.  Tony chanced pulling back.  “There.  Not so bad, huh?”  Steve’s face was wet.  Tony figured it was from crying rather than the pool, but he didn’t comment.  He just kept grinning, giving another soft kiss.  He put his arms around Steve’s neck when Steve seemed receptive, tangling their legs more together.  Steve was barely kissing back, so Tony didn’t push it much further.  He chuckled when they parted, bracing his forehead to Steve’s.  “Kinda like how it was before.  We’ll get there.”

Steve frowned sadly.  “Tony…”

“Wanna swim a little?”  Tony tried to pull away a bit, to give Steve the chance to handle this a little on his own.  “Do some laps maybe?  You used to swim circles around me.  Used to show off doing it, like you needed to give me an excuse to ogle at you.”

“T-Tony?”

“You’re such a sneaky shit, always acting all innocent, but you love my ogling.”  Tony grinned, but again all his flirting and joking wasn’t helping.  Steve shook his head, shivering again.  “Come on, Steve.  It’s all muscle memory.  You can do it.”  A little more forcefully, Tony pushed himself away from Steve.  Now they weren’t touching so completely, weren’t melded together like some weird human/octopus hybrid.  “Try.  It’ll feel good.”

Steve clutched at his arm a little harder, so Tony pulled away even more.  Maybe this had to be just a touch more aggressive.  Tough love.  Steve looked scared when Tony got too far away for him to easily reach, and Tony felt just a bit like a bastard for the haunted, harried look on Steve’s face.  It got the job done, though, and pretty soon, Steve was wading through the water on his own, treading on his own.

Swimming on his own.

Sure enough, just as Tony had hoped, once Steve truly started an activity he enjoyed, he fell completely into it.  Tony had been trying for the last couple days to get Steve interested in the things he used to like, to _love._   Sketching or watching old movies or sparring or reading or just spending time together, talking like there was nothing more important than the next joke Tony made or the next story Steve told.  None of that had been enough to pierce his malaise, but this was.

Steve finally peeled off his shirt with Tony’s encouragement.  It was soaked and clinging to him like a second-skin, heavy and uncomfortable and making it difficult to swim the way Steve clearly wanted to.  After that, he went at it, swimming alongside Tony, again with Tony’s constant comfort and approval.  Pretty soon, Steve wasn’t simply following him across the length of the massive pool.  He was jetting across it, all grace and power, moving through the different types of strokes with fluid perfection.  After he took off his sunglasses, Tony continued with him for a bit, partly to stay close in case Steve lost his composure and to keep a close eye on him, but mostly because it just felt so damn _good._   Eventually he settled into lounging by the sprawling tiled steps into the pool, leaning back and watching as Steve swam like he always used to, like _nothing_ had ever happened to them.

It was such a huge victory.  And it was just beautiful.  _Beautiful._

A little while later, Steve was floating in the center of the pool on his back.  He’d swum the length of it dozens of times at speeds that would put most Olympic athletes to shame.  Now he was quiet, still, not breathing heavily or at all distressed.  He was looking up at the sky overhead.  The cornflower blue dome was filled by big puffs of white but not so much as to hide the sun.  Steve was basking in it.  He was lax, peaceful, opening and closing his eyes like he was drifting but then checking in to make sure he hadn’t actually gone anywhere.  And he was smiling.  _Smiling._   It wasn’t a huge smile, not one of Steve’s big goofy grins or sunny looks.  But it was there, and it was such a relief to see it.  Tony could sit there in the water on those steps and watch Steve float and smile for forever.

But the day was wearing, and he had a surprise he was pretty sure Steve would like.  He let Steve have this for a bit longer before swimming out there to his side.  Steve dropped his lower body back down beneath the surface, treading as Tony came to him.  “Good?”

Steve stared at him, obviously a little dazed from being so completely lost in his thoughts.  He smiled again, though, and nodded.  “Yeah.  It was good.”

Tony pressed closer, giving a sweet, loving kiss.  “Good’s about to become great,” he said.  Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Come on.”

They got out of the pool.  Steve was still wary, but he was following along with less reluctance as Tony handed him a towel.  After drying off a bit, Tony put his towel around his neck and his sunglasses back on and took Steve’s hand.  He led him around the other side of the pool and down into the gardens around it.  There was a path there, an older one that wound through the manicured shrubs and flowering plants before venturing into a less meticulously maintained copse of palm trees.  Steve hesitated, warily eyeing the slightly shadowy place.  “Still gotta trust me, love,” Tony reminded with a watered-down version of his Cheshire-cat grin.  “It’s not too far.  I want to show you something.”

Obediently Steve let him lead him down the cobblestone walk.  Tony rubbed his knuckles with his thumb as they went, feeling yet again like he was trying to show a wounded animal that his touch was safe, that _he_ was safe.  Eventually the ground got sandier beneath their bare feet.  There was a gap in the trees ahead, and they went through it to find themselves on the beach, the expanse of pearly sand spreading both left and right.  The ocean was in front of them, maybe fifty feet from where they stood.

And Tony grinned in relief.  “Yay.  It’s still here.”

Right before them there were two huge trees with fat canopies that provided cool, sprawling shade.  Between the wide trunks, a huge hammock was suspended.  It was made of thick cloth, a mocha color that looked nice against the light sand all around.  Tony appraised it for a second.  “Well, it’s not exactly the same one.  I used to come down here all the time and lay in this thing with Mom and Dad.”

That pierced Steve’s haze.  “Yeah?” he asked.

Tony smiled at him.  “Yeah.  Good memories.  We never did much together, but we did that.”  And his mother had sung – she’d had such a lovely voice – and his father had pet Tony’s head with a fond smile he rarely wore while they’d snuggled in the hammock, Tony between them and the waves whooshing against the shore.  “It was really nice.”

He didn’t say anything more, walking over to the hammock.  It was definitely a new one; the other would have been more than thirty years old.  Tony had no idea what the shelf life of one of these things was, but it couldn’t be that long.  He pushed down on the fabric and found it sturdy but springy enough, certainly capable of holding a super soldier and his husband.  He turned and smiled at Steve.  “Join me?”

Steve stood back at the path, towel around his shoulders, tall and strong and almost the way he was.  Almost.  It felt obtainable when the little smile came back to his lips, and he walked across the beach, wriggling his toes with a little laugh.  “What?” Tony asked.

“Just… sand,” Steve explained as he reached Tony’s side.

Tony understood.  Sand between his toes.  Warm sun on his skin.  Fresh air in his lungs.  So much to see, the pretty trees and the vast ocean.  _Life and freedom._   This had been a really good idea.

It was a little ungainly, and they both giggled with how clumsy they were, but they got themselves into the hammock.  Side by side they lay, their own weight and the shape of thing pushing them together.  Tony scooched up a bit so Steve could curl into him, and he wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders.  His fingers traced a random, aimless path up and down Steve’s bicep, and Steve laid his palm flat on Tony’s chest, barely ghosting the arc reactor and the spidery scars that surrounded it.  Again Tony could feel all the tension bleed out of him.  The fronds shading them shifted in the breeze and let shafts of light through.  It was like a warm blanket, and the afternoon was turning sleepy.

Tony reached up to take his sunglasses off and toss them idly into the sand.  The constant data input to the lenses was getting irritating, and he didn’t need it.  They were safe here.  “You know,” he murmured into the crown of Steve’s head.  “There’s no one around for miles.  We’re totally alone.  Totally and completely and absolutely and all that.  We could…”  He slid his hand down Steve’s back lower and pressed his knee gently up higher between his legs.  “Fool around.  If we wanted.  If _you_ wanted.  You want to?”

Steve’s answer was immediate and mildly distressing.  He tensed, pulled away from Tony some, and shook his head.  Tony hadn’t made any hints about intimacy since that day in his workshop.  After their argument the morning of the press conference, the idea of even talking about sex felt wrong and premature.  The whole thing seemed like a bone out of its joint, like walking on a broken foot, and he’d merely taught himself to ignore the pain.

But it was fresh now.  Maybe Ty hadn’t raped Steve – Christ, Tony _still_ wasn’t sure – but even if he hadn’t, Steve was withdrawing more and more from their physical relationship.  Tony wasn’t about to question him or push it.  “You’re right.  Weird doing it here anyway,” he said, trying to hide the touch of pain in his voice.  “You know, since this place is a childhood memory.  Have I joked recently about how ironic it is that Howard’s two greatest creations screw each other on the regular?  Probably been a year at least, so it’s overdue.”

Steve shivered again.  “No.”  It wasn’t obvious if he was saying no to Tony’s question or no to the idea of them being intimate.

Tony didn’t let himself wonder.  “Well, remind me to,” he whispered into his hair.  “Later.  When you want to.”  Hopefully that was a gentle way of backing off, of reminding Steve he was okay with waiting however long it took.  “Nap time?  Feeling like a snooze.”

Steve relaxed further, all the tension from seconds ago melting away.  “Okay.”

Tony closed his eyes.  The air was so warm, smelling of the ocean but a clean, salty scent rather than anything foul.  He breathed deeply, melted into Steve’s arms.  Steve shivered once or twice more, but then he was quiet.  Calm.  “Thank you, Tony,” he murmured.

Half asleep, Tony smiled into the sun. 

* * *

Later that evening, they settled down into the mansion’s living room.  The day was turning into a pleasant, peaceful twilight, and the grounds around the house were doused with gray.  In the living room, the windows were huge, two stories tall at least, so there was an incredible view of the world quieting as the sun set.  The glassy spread of the tranquil ocean.  The nearly motionless embrace of the gardens and palms.  Even Tony, who rarely slowed down enough to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings, was struck by just how amazing it was.

They ate a cozy dinner in the opulent, adjacent dining room.  Tony wasn’t much for cooking, but he managed to whip up some pasta that wasn’t half-bad.  He could have ordered something (the nearby area was positively teeming with fantastic seafood), or he could have summoned the staff chefs and had them cook, but this felt better.  More intimate.  He wasn’t quite ready to let anyone else into their little bubble.  Steve seemed appreciative, both of the simple meal and the quiet.  He was eating with a tad more enthusiasm than he had been.  They still weren’t talking much, but the silence wasn’t so distressing.  Steve was comfortable enough.  The swim had done him wonders, not just in releasing pent-up energy and flexing his muscles, so to speak.  It had shown him he had to capacity to _do_ what he had before, to be who he still was.  There was a chance to reclaim what had been taken.  Tony would keep showing him that until he could believe in it.

After they were through, Steve helped him carry their dishes to the kitchen.  Tony would have left them (he didn’t mind cooking, but cleaning up after himself?  He was who he was, and he had people for that), but Steve immediately started washing up the couple pots, pans, and their plates.  He didn’t say anything about it, just filling the deep sink in the gourmet kitchen behind the dining room with hot water and soap.  Tony set his plates to the counter, watching him scrub a second.  “Never gonna break you of that, am I,” he then commented with a smile, leaning over to kiss Steve’s cheek.  Steve blushed and smiled a little, too.  Tony found a towel and started drying.  Inwardly he was just brimming with happiness to see Steve doing something like what he always used to.  Again it was just a touch of normalcy, but it felt monumental.

When they were done, they put everything away.  Then they brewed some coffee, and Tony handed Steve a mug before taking one for himself.  They returned to the massive living area.  The décor was what one would expect of a beach house: lots of wicker, pale blues and creams and tans and soft whites, ridiculously expensive but not something that appealed to Tony.  Steve didn’t seem to care for it much either, looking around once again like he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.  Tony had to admit that, aside from obvious opulence, it didn’t really match the rest of the Stark family aesthetic.  Nonetheless, they sat back on the huge, white couch together right in front of the spread of windows and watched the moon start to rise over the ocean.  They weren’t quite touching.  Steve had his legs tucked under him, and he was absently twisting his wedding ring again, staring emptily at flowers and palms outside.  His coffee was untouched on the table and cooling.

Tony’s was already gone.  He needed the caffeine.  Now he was looking between his husband and his phone, checking the latest emails coming from Stark Industries R&D and working a bit with his laptop.  After a while, he noticed the tears gathering in Steve’s eyes.  The silence was very quickly becoming painful again.  He reached over and rubbed Steve’s leg.  “You want to do something else?  We could watch a movie.  Play video games?”

Steve snapped out of his haze and recoiled from Tony’s hand.  He gave a rough jerk of his head.  Tony sighed.  He stood up, set his laptop to the coffee table beside Steve’s sketchbook where it had been left from the day before.  The book was a brand new one, spiral bound and leather, and Tony had also made sure to bring a really nice set of colored pencils and charcoals.  He handed the set to Steve along with the book.  “You want to draw for a bit?”

Steve just stared him.  Tony knew he was pushing his luck with this.  For how prolific Steve had been with his sketches before he’d been kidnapped, he hadn’t drawn a thing since.  It seemed to be a sensitive subject.  Accordingly, Steve offered another shake of his head.

Tony decided to push a little.  It had worked before, after all.  “Why don’t you try, love.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Can’t,” Steve whispered.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “Every time I do…”

Tony set the book to Steve’s lap.  “Don’t think about it.  It doesn’t have power over you, Steve.  _He_ doesn’t have power.  Not any power you don’t give him.”

Steve was so perceptive, even as beaten down as he was.  He glared.  “Ironic, coming from you.”

Tony didn’t let himself be insulted.  “Yep.”  He opened charcoal pencils and picked one, hoping it was appropriate.  Despite living with Steve for years, he still didn’t know a thing about any of this stuff except that Steve with his hands covered in black or pastels or paint, with color smudged on his face even, was ridiculously sexy.  That made him grin.  “Draw me.  Like one of your French girls?  I can lay on the couch if it’ll help.”

Steve glared a little harder.  “Tony.”

“Come on, sweetheart.  Try to sketch something.  It might help.  Might feel good.” 

For a few seconds more Steve scowled at him.  Then he huffed a short sigh, submitting, and sat up a bit, pulling his legs out from under him.  He opened the sketchbook to the first page, which was of course blank.  Then he rejected the pencil Tony offered and selected one of his own.  He set the tip of it pencil to the paper and did what he always did: tried.  He drew a faint line, not with any of his typical finesse.  Like Steve did over Tony’s hands and heart and mind when he built things, Tony always marveled at Steve when he sketched, just how fluid and simple it seemed, how easy it appeared to be to create remarkably detailed images from nothing but paper, a pencil, and memory.

It was a struggle now, though.  Still, Steve just sighed and kept going.  Tony grinned (trying not to reveal just how triumphant he was feeling) and sat back down on his side of the ridiculously spacious sofa.  The silence came back, and he returned to his phone and laptop.  A couple seconds later he was composing an email to Pepper when Steve grunted.  The next thing he knew, a page was being loudly ripped from the sketchbook, crumpled, and tossed to the coffee table in complete disdain.  Tony watched with a wince, but he chose not to say anything.

But it happened again.  And again.  Steve choked off something that sounded like a sob.  “Steve?” Tony finally asked, setting down his laptop again.

“Can’t,” Steve snapped.  Out came another page, balled up and quick to join the others scattered on the coffee table and floor.  “I can’t do it!”

Tony sighed softly, summoning forth more patience.  “What’s wrong?”

“My goddamn hand…”  Steve raised his right hand, clutching it about the wrist.  “It won’t stop _shaking._ ”  True to his words, his fingers were quivering, though not nearly as much as they had in the week after he’d first woken from the coma.  It was probably enough to keep him from drawing with the level of precision he wanted, though.  Those tears that had been building before were back, and they were threatening even more.  “Can’t even do this!”

“Don’t,” Tony said softly.  He took Steve’s hand and stopped him from breaking his own wrist (which seemed disturbingly possible given how hard he was squeezing the joint).

“What the hell’s wrong with me?” Steve growled in utter frustration.

“Nothing.  It’s just a stress response.”

“A stress response?” Steve asked incredulously.

“It’s normal, love.”

“No, it’s not!  None of this is _normal!”_ Steve hissed.  Just like that, all the progress they’d made today was being swept away.  “I’m too screwed up to draw.  Too screwed up to fight.  Can’t do a simple press conference.  Can’t barely leave the goddamn house.  I was scared out of mind today just going outside!  Scared of out my mind!  Jesus Christ!”

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay!  Don’t say it’s okay!  It’s not!  It’s _never_ going to be okay!”

“Steve–”

It was too late.  Steve stood, wrenching away from Tony’s hands.  The sketchbook loudly hit the floor, the pencils and charcoals clattering to the wood.  Steve stalked away, almost running, heading through the darkened mansion toward the wing with the bedrooms.  Tony watched him go, shocked at how fast everything had gone to hell.  “Fuck,” he whispered, bending over to get the things that had fallen.  It was too much work, too goddamn upsetting, and he collapsed on the couch without doing a damn thing.  “Just fuck.” 

He just laid there for a bit, reeling and weary.  He needed to go after Steve.  Or maybe he needed to give him space.  He didn’t know, but space seemed okay for a second, because first and foremost he needed to regroup.  Then his phone buzzed.  Feeling absolutely exhausted, he flung his arm out to grab it where he’d left it on the arm of the couch.  Thumbing the screen, he held it up to his ear.  “What?”

Natasha’s voice answered.  “Tony, we’re coming up the drive.  Can you have JARVIS let us in?”

Gingerly Tony sat up.  He wasn’t in the mood for this.  “Who’s us?”

Natasha sighed.  Clearly she wasn’t in the mood either.  “Just let us in please.  It’s very important and not something we can discuss over the phone.”  She hung up.

Tony lowered his phone and stared at the screen for a moment, at the picture of Natasha’s face next to the blinking information about the terminated call.  Then he touched the lower screen.  “JARVIS?”

“Here, sir.”

“What’s this about?”  The team had been coming and going these last couple days, but it was always with an explanation, mostly to see Steve.

JARVIS sounded as tired as he felt.  “I do not know.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet.  “Yay for cryptic bullshit.  Let them in.”  He went to unlock the mansion’s main doors.  All the security features were coded to his biosigns, retinal and fingerprint identification and the like.  That had been faster and easier to implement than the complicated scanning system the Tower was using to track all motion, infrared, and aberrant EM signatures.  JARVIS was monitoring the gates around the estate as well as the surrounding grounds.  No one could get in without them knowing.

Even Black Widow.  And the reason for the cryptic bullshit became clear when Tony saw who was with her.  “Oh, good.  You must want something.”

Fury frowned.  “Is that your automatic conclusion whenever you see me, Stark?”

Tony opened the doors wider so they could come in.  “Pretty much.”

The SHIELD Director stepped inside, Natasha following him.  Fury glanced around, taking in the place, as Tony shut and secured the door.  He took a deep breath and actually smiled, like he couldn’t quite keep his happiness contained anymore.  “Well, this just proves you’re not always right, in more ways than one.”

Tony didn’t appreciate the comment.  He led them through the palatial foyer to the main room where he and Steve had been sitting before.  When he saw the mess he’d left, he winced and he rushed over to clean up the torn papers and heap of colored pencils before the two spies began to suspect what happened.

Yeah, impossible dream.  “Where’s Steve?” Natasha asked as she beheld the scene.

“Resting,” Tony replied a tad curtly.  “Rough day.”  The words tasted sour.  How fucking quickly the day had become that.  Rough and painful and _detrimental_.

“I’m sorry,” Fury commented sadly.  Natasha crouched beside Tony and lifted the fallen sketchbook before helping him gather up the colored pencils that had rolled under the couch.  “Are you okay, Stark?”

“I’d be better if you’d just say whatever it is you came here to say.”  Tony’s tone was getting terser and terser.  “So why don’t you do that and then kindly leave us alone.”

“Alright,” Fury conceded with a sigh.  He smiled again.  “There’s been good news today.”

That wasn’t enough to pierce Tony’s haze of spite.  There was no trash can in sight, so he headed with a harried gait to the kitchen.  It was dark and shadowy in there, with only a few lights on, and he fumbled with the lower cabinets for a second before finding the trash.  “What?  Let me guess.  I’m dreaming this whole thing?  You’re here all _Inception_ -style to wake me up.”

“No.”

Tony stuffed the papers in and then slammed the receptacle shut.  He turned around, losing his patience.  “Then one of the fuck-ton of fake tips on Ty panned out.”  He couldn’t help his anger.  He was trying not to follow the news or what was going on too closely.  It was all bullshit anyway and upsetting bullshit at that.  However, he was aware of the fact that thousands of tips had come in over the last few days.  Unsurprisingly in the wake of the President’s statement asking the American public for their help in locating Ty, the American public had done just what he’d requested: _helped._   Calls had flooded the FBI, both anonymously and not, with supposed information on Ty’s whereabouts.  Mostly people were claiming to have seen him.  There were some fake facts in there as well, like defunct addresses or correspondences.  A couple were complete cons.  SHIELD and the FBI were collaborating in trying to follow up on all the potential leads that passed the initial stink test, focusing on the ones in the Alaska area (which seemed silly.  If Ty truly had survived the explosion, he could be anywhere at this point) but investigating those in the Continental States and abroad as fast as they could.  It was a massive endeavor, and so far nothing had turned up.

 _So far._   The look on Natasha’s face had Tony stopping dead in his tracks.  He stared at her.  “What?  One of them _did_ pan out?”

Natasha gave a shaky smile.  For a second she said nothing, like she was struggling to come to terms with what she knew, what she had to tell him.  With that had happened.  Then she gasped and smiled in a touch of exasperation.  “He’s dead, Tony.  It’s over.”

It was silent.  Silent and utterly still, as if time had seized and stopped.  Tony didn’t understand at all.  “What?”

Fury came to stand at Natasha’s side.  “We found Stone’s body this afternoon.  He’s definitely dead.”

It was a damn good thing he was right next to the island in the kitchen.  Otherwise he would have ended up on his ass, having utterly collapsed from shock given his knees went weak and his body went cold.  Grasping onto the granite countertop was all he could do to stay upright.  Blood was rushing in his ears, but over that he could hear himself weakly stammering.  “Where…  I mean how…  _What?_ ”

“A couple of loggers up near Fairbanks called it in.  They found the body a few miles from where we stopped the convoy, back up the hills and in the forest.  It looks like Stone was trying to make his way back to his property,” Natasha softly explained.

“But you searched there,” Tony gasped.  “You searched there!  You searched all over!”

“The techs have a theory that the Chameleon suit might have been functioning days or even maybe a week after the battle.”  Natasha shrugged, but it was with a shadow of her normal aplomb.  “SHIELD went over this location two days after the attack and then again a week after, but since that point it hasn’t been searched.  If the stealth suit was functioning back then but failed completely between then and now…  It makes sense.”

“Frankly we would have found him anyway,” Fury said confidently.  “Our teams were moving northward in that direction.  Even with the fresh snowfall, we would have seen him.  He was crumpled against a tree.  Died right where he sat.”

Tony couldn’t think about that, about _any_ of this.  “And you’re _sure_ it’s him?  Absolutely sure?”

Fury nodded.  “We’ll run the DNA analysis, but yes.  The body’s in LA now and–”

“I want to see it.”  He couldn’t help the almost panicked demand.  It burst out of him, all fire and fear.  “I want to see him!  I…”

Fury took a step closer, pulling a tablet computer from the inner pockets of his long coat.  He set that to the kitchen island.  Tony couldn’t understand, couldn’t think to process or function.  But his hands moved of their own accord, reaching for the sleek device and turning it on

The picture before him was hideous, a gray, naked body.  A dead body clearly laying on a stainless steel table in a morgue.  A dead _face_.  Hideous burns covered the corpse, but they were aged, blackened areas that were bloated, misshapen, and rotted.  The face itself was gruesome, again marred with wounds and burns, but Tony recognized the high cheek bones, the tall brow, the shape of the nose and the eyes and the bow of the lips.  Eyes that had been filled with cruelty and malice masked by fake friendship.  Lips twisted in a condescending sneer that he’d once stupidly mistaken for brotherly affection.  It was unmistakable.

It was Ty.  _Ty was dead._

Tony couldn’t breathe.  Couldn’t think.  Fury was talking, but the words hardly registered.  “The body’s been transported to the SHIELD hospital in LA.  Barton and Banner are on their way there now and should arrive in a couple hours.  We’re going to follow them out there.”

Tony shook his head.  “How…”

“We’ll know more once Banner gets a look, but the pathologists are speculating the burns killed him,” Fury said.  “They were third degree over a large portion of his body.  His lungs were also seared.  It’s amazing he was able to survive at all, let alone walk a few miles as injured as he was.”

“He stole the serum,” Tony whispered, still staring at Ty’s face.  Ty’s expression was frozen into place, and it was muddied by injury and exposure to the elements, but it seemed like he was grimacing.  Like he’d been locked in agony.  “The serum tried to heal him.”

“That’s what Bruce thinks,” Natasha quietly declared.  “But what Stone siphoned from Steve wasn’t enough.  The serum couldn’t save him.  The pathologists think he died twelve hours or so after the battle.”

Suddenly staring at Ty’s face, even his dead face, was too much, and Tony turned the tablet off and pushed it away.  His throat burned and felt tight.  “Fuck,” he whispered.

Fury seemed confused, his forehead furrowed in concern.  “You okay, Stark?”

Tony didn’t know if he was.  This had happened so suddenly, which was strange as hell considering _for weeks_ logic had dictated that Ty was dead.  That Tony had killed him.  Everyone had said that.  SHIELD.  The government.  The Avengers and JARVIS and Rhodey and Tony’s own weak sense of logic.  Still, he felt utterly blindsided.  All his fear, his doubt, his paranoia…  The nightmares.  The things he’d done to protect the Tower, to protect their home.  To protect Steve.  The way he’d scared and hurt the team, hurt Pepper, _hurt Steve._   He’d been wrong, and it had all been for nothing, because Ty had died a month ago, _twelve hours_ after Tony had blasted him with the unibeam and detonated the quinjet behind him.  He was dead, gone, not a threat at all.  This whole time since they’d gotten Steve back… _he never had been._

None of this was as comforting as it should have been.

Fury frowned.  “What’s the matter?  I thought you’d be happy or at least relieved.”

Tony jerked from the spinning hell of his thoughts.  He swallowed down the burn of bile in his throat.  “I am.  I am!  I just…”  It didn’t seem real.  This moment, the picture of Ty’s dead body, the _truth…_   None of it felt real.  “I thought for sure he’d survived.  I thought he’d find a way.”

“To fool us again?” Fury asked.  Tony nodded blankly.  “Not this time.  Not ever again, it seems.  His luck ran out.” 

_You beat him.  Fair and square.  God._

Fury’s bravado wavered when his comments didn’t win the approval from Tony for which he’d probably hoped.  He frowned.  “Listen, Stark, if you feel like you want to see this through, go out there and look at the body and examine the stealth suit, help them investigate exactly what happened, I can take you.  Romanoff’s already offered to stay with Rogers.”

“No.”  Tony swallowed through a dry throat.  A few days ago…  He would never have been able to say that.  He’d told Clint he needed to see it, that he _had_ to be certain, but…  “No, I’m okay.  It’s fine.  They, uh…  Yeah, Clint and Bruce can handle it.”

“You sure?” Natasha asked dubiously.

Tony forced himself to nod.  “Is this public knowledge yet?”

“No.  Thankfully the loggers went to the cops rather than the news.  The White House knows, but no one else does outside of SHIELD and higher echelons of the FBI,” Natasha explained.  Then she started to understand.  “You want to tell Steve first.”

Tony closed his eyes wearily and nodded.  “I have to.”  He’d failed in that before with the press conference, failed in it _completely._   He couldn’t do that again.  Steve deserved to know.  And he deserved to hear it from Tony.

Fury appraised him evenly.  “I think I can delay the White House a day.  Considering the media focus, they won’t want to.  Plus one of Stone’s ex-wives started crying foul over the manhunt yesterday.  I take it you haven’t been watching the news?”  Tony winced and shook his head.  “She’s been claiming the family hasn’t been able to properly mourn Stone’s death with the government and SHIELD insisting he was alive.  She’s also claiming everything Ellis said about what Stone did is a smear tactic orchestrated by you to destroy ViaStone’s legacy.  A vendetta perpetrated by the Avengers and the government.”

Natasha grimaced like she didn’t want Tony to be aware of this.  “Don’t pay attention to it.  It’s obvious she’s trying to protect whatever she thinks she has coming in Stone’s will.”

“Which will be not a goddamn thing,” Fury said.  He was obviously misinterpreting Tony’s distress.  Tony really didn’t give a fuck about Stone’s ex-wives and their claims on his eroding fortune.  “You can be sure of that.  ViaStone’s insolvent.  The FBI and IRS are all over Stone’s people, not to mention other nations.  I have it on good authority that both the EU and the South Korean government are investigating them for patent fraud and intellectual theft.  And her bullshit slander claims won’t get her anything.  We have a mountain of evidence to prove what Stone did, not to mention an army of scientists and soldiers and other convenient co-conspirators begging to tell their tale in order to get some leniency.  It’s not happening, Tony.  This time, no one is playing us for fools.”

Tony shook his head like he was trying to escape these words buzzing around him.  “I…  I…”  _God._   He had no clue what to think, let alone say.  He really didn’t care about any of that.  “Just let me talk to Steve.  Please.  He can’t learn about this some other way.”

“I promise you he won’t,” Fury said.  “I will make sure it stays quiet for as long as I can.”

Tony closed his eyes.  “Thanks.”  The room descended into an awkward, tense silence.  Frankly, Tony was so damn lost that he couldn’t manage anything further.  His mind was still trapped back a few minutes ago, still caught processing the horror of Ty’s dead face.  He wanted to tell the others to go, to give him a goddamn moment to process this, but the words wouldn’t come.

Fury figured it out.  “Alright, we’ll get out of your hair.  I’ll be in touch tomorrow about the particulars of Stone’s death so we’ll be on the same page.”  He held out of his hand.  “Congratulations, Stark.  It really is over.”

 _It’s over.  Ty’s dead._ Tony smiled weakly and shook Fury’s hand.  Fuck all if that wasn’t weird, to be shaking hands with the Director of SHIELD like this was a job well done.  It wasn’t, and he didn’t feel a bit like celebrating.

“Sir, do you mind if I talk to Stark alone for a moment?” Natasha asked after they were through.  The tone of her voice suggested she really wasn’t interested in taking no for an answer.

Fury wasn’t a cruel enough bastard to deny her, at any rate.  His nod was curt, but his eye betrayed his compassion.  He saw himself out.

Natasha waited until they heard the front door close.  She held Tony’s gaze a moment in the darkness, but then she turned and wandered back to the living room. Tony knew her well enough (and was somehow with it enough despite his shock) to realize she wanted him to follow her, so he did.  His legs felt like rubber, and his head hurt.  The world looked odd and nightmarish as they returned to the spacious room.  Even with the lamps spreading warm illumination, it seemed very dark.

And Natasha was staring at the spot on the floor where the mess had been before.  Steve’s sketchbook and crumpled papers and fallen art supplies.  There were still a couple colored pencils on the hardwoods.  “What happened with him today?” she quietly inquired, breaking a seemingly unbreakable silence.

Tony sighed, staring too like the weight of his gaze could undo what had happened.  “He was better at first.  Even though he was scared, he went out for a while.  Went for a swim.”  She turned, suddenly smiling, and Tony couldn’t help but smile at that, too.  “Yeah.  It was…  Just for a little bit, Tash, it was like having him back the way he was.”

Her grin slipped.  “But then?”

Blinking back a sudden rush of tears, Tony stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts and shrugged nonchalantly.  He wasn’t going to cry, no matter how fucked up his emotions were right now.  “Same old story.  He slipped back.”  He swallowed down the ache.  “Like the docs said, right.  Like we’ve all said now and again.  It’s going to take time and patience.”

She was clearly not appeased by that.  “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted.  “Stone’s dead.  The monster who kidnapped Steve, tortured him, put him in that tank…”  Her voice broke, and that was just as well because hearing the atrocities listed again was too much.  “He’s dead.  I know that’s a good thing.  And now we know for sure, right?  Now we know.”  _Now we know.  Now there’s an answer._ That should be enough, but it didn’t feel like it.  “That has meaning.  Purpose.  And we’re safe.  This whole nightmare has a conclusion, the _right_ conclusion.  The person who did it is dead.”  She whispered that, eyes glazed, and a moment of weighty silence descended.  Tony watched her work through her thoughts.  Eventually she shook her head, more to herself.  “It’s not over, though.  It’s not over for you or for Steve or for any of us.  Him being dead doesn’t end this for us.  And him being dead isn’t…  It’s not _enough_.”

She turned more to face him completely and regarded him with steely anger.  “I never really met the bastard.  I never saw him, never talked to him.  But I hated him, Tony.  All it took was a few days of seeing what he did to Steve, and I hated him more than I’ve _ever_ hated someone.  And you know how hard it is for me to feel that.  You know.”  He knew.  The Red Room had taught her to control her emotions because feelings were an unpredictable and unnecessary variable for an assassin out in the field.  Hate, like love, didn’t come easily to her.  Natasha didn’t even seem to hate the people who’d trained her, who’d brainwashed her and altered her body and mind and set her down a path that led to blood staining her hands forever.

She sighed now, clenching those hands into fists.  “If I feel this angry and cheated out of facing this guy down and _hurting_ him for what he did, how’s Steve going to feel?  Not that he’d want vengeance.  Even after all this, he’s still too good a person to want what we’d want, what _I’d_ need.  But still, there’s no… no _closure_ for him.”  Tony frowned.  That thought had been slithering in back of his mind, he supposed, but he’d been so convinced that Ty was alive that he hadn’t entertained it or even really acknowledged it.  Now it shot to the forefront.  Ty was dead.  The person who’d done this to them had gotten off, in a sense, without really answering for his crimes.  Not to them, but more than that, not to Steve.

“Truth be told, I’m…  I’m actually disappointed,” Natasha admitted.  She seemed disgusted with herself, averting her eyes to the magnificent display beyond the windows.  The moon was bright and unnaturally huge on the water, and the ocean seemed endless.  “I’m disappointed you weren’t right.  I was hoping he’d make a try for you or Steve, that he’d attack us.  Then I could have killed him.”  She gave a rueful smile.  “Though I probably would have settled for watching Thor kick the shit out of him or Bruce crush him.  Or Steve going at him.  That would have been good.”  Tony could almost picture it.  Steve striding toward Ty after disarming him (which he’d manage easily), walking with that murder-strut of his over which Tony had teased him once or twice (and ogled a lot more, because it was ridiculously sexy).  And Steve beating the bastard down, all the strength and power of the serum to bear.  The strength and power Ty could never have, never steal.  Ty would beg for his life, snivel like a baby before the might of Captain America.  Of course, Steve wouldn’t kill him.  Like Natasha said before, he was far too good a man for that, even if Ty had it coming.  So Steve would grant his mercy, rise above the hell to which he’d been subjected like a phoenix from the ashes.  He’d be beautiful and astonishing and invincible.  Victorious.

But it was just a dream, a fantasy, and Natasha’s next bitter words yanked Tony right from it.  “It’s not fucking fair, Tony.  I’ve seen things, done things…  Done evil.  Been evil.  But this?  I know better, but, fuck, it’s not _fair_.”  She sighed, slumping just a bit as she turned to him.  He could see now she had something in her right hand, something she’d pulled from the pocket of her leather coat.  “And it’s not fair he gets the last word.”

She opened her fingers, and there on her palm was a gray USB stick with the SHIELD logo on it.  Tony just stared.  For being a genius, his brain was stuck fantastically failing him.  “What’s that?”

Natasha stepped closer.  She wrestled with herself a second, the struggle so uncharacteristic a year ago and now all too commonplace.  “I wasn’t sure if I should give this to you, but… I know I have to.  The techs out in LA started analyzing the Chameleon the second they brought Ty’s body in this afternoon.  They hooked the suit up and were able to get data from it.  Apparently it had a HUD-like interface not all that different from Iron Man’s.”  Tony already knew that.  He’d forgotten that no one else did.  Natasha sighed.  “And apparently Stone felt the need to record you a message.”

For the second time that evening, everything just stopped.  Tony reeled in the strange paralysis, horrified and curious all at once.  “A message?” he finally managed.  Then it clicked.  “You watched it.”

Natasha’s eyes filled with grief and anger.  “Yes.  So has Hill.  She was there when the techs extracted it from the stealth suit’s systems.  It looks like Stone made it right before he died.”

 _Shit._   Tony didn’t know what to think, other than Natasha was holding the weight of the world in her palm.  “Who else has seen it?”

“No one, not even Fury.  Hill made the call to keep it quiet.  There’s mention of some details of Steve’s captivity that…  Well, I get the feeling you know everything they did to him.  Stone talks about filming it all.”  Tony’s blood went cold.  She probably saw the guilt and terror on his face.  “Since we never found any footage in the data dump from his lab, I’m guessing you got a hold of it first.  And, knowing you, you watched it.”  She bit her lip, wincing in pain.  “God, Tony, why didn’t you tell us?  We could have helped you face that.”

“I…”  All his reasons seemed stupid now.  “I couldn’t ask any of you to do that.  And I couldn’t do it to Steve.  It already felt so goddamn wrong.”  His voice was strained, barely above a whisper.  “Fuck, Tash.  No one can know.  No one can _ever_ know.”

“Which is why no one does,” she assured again.  He could see she understood, that she agreed.  If the footage of Steve’s captivity escaped their control, there was no way it wouldn’t spread.  “This is the only copy.”  She put the USB drive into his hand, pressing it into his flesh lightly.  “I trust you to do what you think is right with it, and as far as Maria and I are concerned, this never happened.”

Tony stared at the small device a moment before meeting her gaze.  Her lips were pressed tightly together.  “You don’t have to watch it,” she reminded him gently.

Like that was even possible.  Obsession was still obsession.  He’d never be entirely free of his.  “Yeah,” he breathed, “I do.”

She nodded to that.  She probably had expected no less.  “At least the son of a bitch died in pain,” she commented after a beat.  “For what it’s worth.  It’s not much consolation.”

“No,” Tony agreed.  _Not much._

Natasha stared at him.  The air between them was tense, frustrated, grief-stricken with no amelioration.  There couldn’t be now, and the USB stick felt so fucking heavy in his hand with that realization.  She finally turned away.  “I should go.  You sure you don’t want to go to LA?”  Tony shook his head.  Maybe he should have, should have had the courage to face the man who’d tormented his youth and kidnapped his husband and put them both through hell, but he didn’t.  It was going to be hard enough to watch this message, and right now he wasn’t sure what the point was of doing either.

Again Natasha nodded, this time more solemnly.  “Just call if you need us.  I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”  She frowned.  “Take care of Steve.  He’s… he’s going to need it.  And tell him we’ll be back soon.  Tell him we love him.”

“I will.”

After that, she was gone, leaving Tony alone and feeling once more like he was falling.


	19. Chapter 19

It took Tony a while to move.  He just stood there with that USB drive in his hand.  He felt utterly numb, swept up in a formless, shapeless storm of emotion.  He was filled to the breaking point with anger and shock, with relief and joy, yet inexplicably he felt completely empty and hollow at the same time.  Weightless.  He really was falling.  That had to be it.  He was falling again, tumbling into the pit inside him.  It was endless.

He wasn’t, though.  The floors were firm beneath his feet.  His knees hadn’t crumpled, no matter how wobbly and infirm they felt.  He looked down at the USB stick.  It seemed so innocuous, a small thing that couldn’t mean much.  But it did.  It _would_ if he watched it.  _You don’t have to watch it._   His own thoughts mirrored what Natasha had told him.  It was true.  He didn’t have to.  What purpose would it serve?  Ty was dead.  For all intents and purposes, the fight between them, this ridiculous competition, this fucking battle of wits that had somehow spanned three decades, was over.  There was no need to think about it anymore, to let it control him anymore.

 _There never had been._   Because Ty was dead and Tony had killed him.  And if he left it at that, threw this USB drive away, crushed it or burned it, _destroyed it_ , that would be how it ended.  There’d be no final words, no lasting taunt.  What else could be in this message other than that?  Ty sure as shit wouldn’t have spent his dying breaths apologizing.  There was nothing he’d say that could possibly help, no doors it would open or healing to be had from it.  So there was _no reason_ to watch it.

But before he even realized it, he was grabbing his laptop where it was on the coffee table next to Steve’s sketchbook and cold cup of coffee.  He was jamming the USB drive into the port on the side.  With a touch of his hand, he switched the device to holographic mode, and the interface popped up over the area.  It was level with his eyes as he straightened, and it glowed brightly, ethereal in the dim light, as ghostly and seemingly unnatural as the huge, pale moon shining on the ocean outside.  JARVIS immediately spoke, and, of course, he asked the same questions Tony couldn’t answer.  He was too wise and perceptive not to.  “Sir, is this truly for the best?”

The file was right there, waiting before Tony’s eyes.  It was the only item on the drive, this solitary video that was hardly more than a couple minutes long.  Tony stared at it, wary and aching.  “Fuck.  I don’t know, J.  I don’t know.”

“If you seek closure, this is unlikely to provide it.”

Tony already knew that.  He closed his eyes and tried to center himself.  It was the same fucking thing over and over again.  He could delude himself, try to make excuses, try to justify and rationalize his behavior, but in the end, this was who he was.  He couldn’t stand not knowing.  He couldn’t stand letting things go without him comprehending them and therefore controlling them.  _Owning_ them, the problem and therefore its solution.  That was who he was, a genius, yes, but obsessive.

And that was who’d saved Steve.  _“You don’t know him, not like I do.”_   Steve’s words filled his head, the ones Steve had said to Ty when he’d faced cryostasis, the ones he’d used as a weapon when everything else had been stripped away from him.  His faith in Tony.His sword and shield.  _“When he gets something in his head, he won’t let it go.  He won’t give up on me.  You’re not smarter than he is.”_

_He can’t hurt us now._

Tony reached into the holographic controls and tapped the file.  Immediately the interface changed, switching to a dark screen.  There was a great deal of digital distortion for a few seconds and loud, cracking noises.  Then the image settled, and Tony could see woods.  This was the forest in Alaska, just off the road where he and the Avengers had chased down Ty’s convoy to rescue Steve.  There were thick, grayish brown trunks everywhere, surrounding the scene like the bars of a prison cell.  The endless spread of snow, starkly white and somehow claustrophobic.  The sound was screwing up, bleating and grinding a little longer before finally quieting.  Once it did, there was ragged breathing.  It was loud, like somehow was panting right into a microphone.  It sounded awful, wet wheezing that indicated lungs damaged beyond repair.  The image dropped in a dizzy blur of distortion, but it focused anew on legs, ones covered in a skin-tight gray suit that was damaged and burned.  The injuries continued up the body, covering the chest, the arms, huge charred swaths of flesh and bloody wounds.  Snow and mud was layered on top.  It was hideous.

The image shifted upward again, like what it had shown was too much to bear.  A hoarse groan resounded.  It was Ty’s voice, strained with utter agony.  “Fucking bullshit…” Ty whispered.  He gave a miserable laugh.  “Not gonna make it back.  Surprise, surprise.  I’m going to die out here.”  The laugh twisted into a sob.  “Can’t fucking believe it.  Guess the serum doesn’t make you immortal after all.”

For a few seconds, only the harsh breathing could be heard.  Then Ty’s voice came again.  It was lower now.  He was struggling to speak, but the venom in his tone was unimaginable.  “I know you’ll hear this, Tony.  You’ll find me, find this little… note to you.  Just like I knew you’d eventually find your way to me, that you’d somehow figure it out.  And just like…”  He chuckled before losing control of his breathing, gasping through sobs.  “Just like I know you’ll find all those videos I left for you.  On our servers, which you’ll hack and decrypt soon enough if you haven’t already.”  There was an amused grunt.  “That’s right.  I filmed it all.  _Everything._ It’s just a little present, Tones, because I’m always thinking of you.  I know just how much you’ll want to explore every little detail of what I did to him.  You have to, right?  You’re probably watching them now and hating yourself for doing it, but you can’t stop.  You got to own it.  Got to _understand._ ”  Another hoarse chuckle hissed over the audio, and Tony ground his teeth together.  “I’m going to die here, but you?  You’ll have nightmares for the rest of your life.  Listen to him scream on those videos, Tony.  _I_ did that.  I did that to the great and powerful Captain America.  _All me.”_

Tony bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.  It was fucking terrible, not being able to see Ty’s face while he talked like this.  “You know, your precious Steve and I have something in common.  We both knew you’d come.  He thought it was because you’re smarter than me, and you know what?  You are.  You are, my friend.  Everything… comes so easily to you.  Your ideas just flow, a constant stream of easy inspiration and achievement that’s chaotic and unpredictable but perfect all at once.  I’ve never been able to do that.  You accused me of taking the serum to… _preserve_ my father’s legacy.  I think I was too quick to dismiss that.  Fuck him, though.  He thought he’d created a genius in me from birth, and every time he discovered he was wrong, he just deluded himself further.  Sent me to the best tech schools, to MIT and CalTech, the best tutors and teachers and curriculums…  And I deluded myself right along with him.  It wasn’t until I met _you,_ this scrawny, insecure kid three years younger than me but infinitely smarter…  That was when I realized I’d never be what he wanted.  Howard Stark had created a genius, but Timothy Stone…  Well, he created just me.  It was a fucking tough pill to swallow.  This rare and remarkable mind my father was trying to cultivate to lead the company, to lead _the world_ after he died…  It was never going to happen.”

Ty’s voice broke.  Tony didn’t know if it had been from the pain or his emotions.  And he couldn’t fucking help the touch of sympathy he felt _even now._   It was the same as what he’d felt for Ty back at MIT.  The weight of his father’s expectations.  Never living up to them.  Never winning approval.  The parallels between them still somehow mattered so much, even after all this.

“At least, it was never going to happen unless I found a way to _make_ myself smarter.  I’m not a genius, Tony, not like you, but I have resources and talents all my own, and you taught me something more valuable during our brief time together at MIT than anything I’d learned before or have since.  If you need something, if you _want_ something, you just have to find a way to steal it without getting caught.”  Tony shook his head, fury burning away that touch of pity inside him.  “I built an empire on that and no one was any the wiser.  And you…  I took your life away, ripped it right out from under you, and you were left running around like a chicken with its fucking head cut off trying to make sense of it.  I watched you flying around the world on the news, searching for your lost love, all while I was draining Steve’s life right out of him.  I was getting _younger_ by the second.  Greatest high of my life.  Drinking his tears couldn’t have made it any better.”

“You fucking bastard…” Tony whispered.

“And you know what?  _I still win._ ”  Ty giggled, but then his voice failed him and a loud, vicious paroxysm of coughing thundered over the video.  The image shook as he suffered through it, rocking like an earthquake had struck, and when it was finally over, he sounded even worse.  Every word was a battle for him, but he kept going, kept driving the knife in.  It was just as like Natasha said.  He had to have the last word.  “I always win.  Maybe you stole him back, took him back from me, but you’re never _getting_ him back.  You know why, Tones?”  Tony could practically picture that condescending smile.  “Because he’s _never_ going to be the man he was.  Not after what I did to him.  I touched him, tortured him.  I took the serum.  I took his body.  I took his mind.  I took his will.  I made him beg for mercy, beg for you, beg for me to kill him. Watch the videos.  You’ll see.”  _No._   “I took _everything._   What you took back?  What you think you rescued?  Just the remains.  The shell after I’ve sucked him dry.  Even if you save his life, he won’t recover.  I _took_ that.  I still took your future with him, just as sure as I had if I’d really killed him all those days ago.”

There was more coughing, these hacking tremors even worse than their predecessors.  Moans were mixed in, the whining whimpers of a dying man.  “So…  So you see, Tones, in the end, I’m still on top.  In the end, even with me dying and you killing me, you still lose.  I’m smarter where it counts.  _Better._   You can have your nightmares, buddy, and I can die knowing the world will see what I did and remember it.  I can die knowing I beat you.”  There was an amused grunt.  “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

The breathing became more strained and raspy, more desperate for air.  Still Ty kept going.  _Still._   “I stole Captain America,” he whimpered giddily.  “Stark Industries’ greatest creation.  You tried to hide him from me, but I still got him.  You know, when I came to see you right before?  I was really just fucking with you, seeing how much I could creep you out, seeing if you’d catch wise.”  Tony seethed.  “Guess what?  You didn’t.  You’re so damn gullible.  So fucking trusting, even when you know you shouldn’t be.  You never change.”  More shallow wheezes.  More last words, these hardly more than a whisper.  “A lot of things never change.  I guess…  I guess that’s immortality, in a sense.  The shit you believe in outliving you.  The shit you’ve done leaving its mark.  So I have that.  I have…  I have the comfort of knowing you’re watching this, fucking helpless and probably hating yourself, and the damage I’ve caused…  What I’ve done to you will last the rest – the rest of your days.  So that’s enough.  That’s something.”  Another moment of quiet came, this one longer and more fraught with suffering.  It almost seemed like it was over, the gasping quieting and slowing.  But then…

“To the victor go the spoils, Tony.  I’ll see you in hell.”

Suddenly the breathing cut off, and the video went dark.

Tony stared at the holographic interface as it returned to the file list.  He couldn’t do anything else.  He just stared.

“Who was he?”

He whirled and saw Steve behind him.  _Steve._   He was standing just on the edge of the living room.  He’d changed, dressed in gray sweats and that Stark Industries sweatshirt again.  He was shivering, and his eyes were wet and wild with anger.  Tony didn’t need anything more to know that Steve had seen the video.  There was no hiding it, no avoiding it any longer.  Steve had seen _._

And he came closer now, dark, broken, _hurting._   Radiating pain like a stormy aura.  Tony’s heart was pounding as he tried to block the view to his laptop, _like it mattered now_.  He still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.  Couldn’t do anything.  He knew he needed to answer, but his voice wouldn’t come, and the agonizing silence dragged on.  Steve got frustrated and shook his head.  “Who was he, Tony?” he asked again.  This was the question he hadn’t asked through all of this.  Who Ty was.  Why he’d done what he’d done.  All of Steve’s distance, the detachment, the disinterest in the details of why he’d been taken…  It was suddenly gone, and what was beneath it was pulsing in rage and anguish.  He lost his patience.  “Answer me!  Who was he?”

Steve’s broken shout knocked the words loose from Tony’s mouth.  “He’s…  His name is – _was_ Tiberius Stone.  He was, um, the CEO of ViaStone Pharmaceuticals and–”

Steve was right in front of Tony now.  “No.  Who was he _to you?_ ”  Tony swallowed, terrified that this was happening, that their wounds that had barely begun to heal were being violently ripped open anew.  Blood that hadn’t been spilled.  Tears that hadn’t been shed.  Steve was trembling, at long last teetering on an edge of his own.  He was going to fall.  He shook his head.  “Was he some sort of… jilted lover or ex-boyfriend or–”

“Oh, God, no, Steve.  _No._ ”

“Then _what?”_ Steve cried.  “Who was he?  Why’d he do this to me?”

Tony’s mouth hung open limply.  Christ, how could he explain this?  He had all this time to think.  Unintentionally, Steve had given him weeks to figure out a way to explain that a stupid spat Tony had when he was fucking fourteen years old had caused his husband to be abducted and tortured thirty years later.  He hadn’t figured out a goddamn thing.  He didn’t know what to say.

“Why, Tony?  Tell me!”

“He was someone I knew when I was a kid.  I met him at MIT when I was a freshman.”

Physically Steve jolted.  He took a step back, his face fracturing in confusion.  That obviously didn’t fit in at all with whatever scenarios he’d been envisioning.  Maybe he’d heard Ty talk about it on the video moments before – _maybe_ , because Tony had no idea when he’d walked in – but if he had, he clearly hadn’t understood it.  Now…  “When you were…  You were a kid?”

Tony nodded sadly.  Now the words came surprisingly easily.  “He was older.  His father owned ViaStone.  Well, then it was Stone Incorporated, but whatever.  Ty took an interest in me, which meant a lot because I was ridiculously young to be in college and going through a really rough patch with Howard at the time.  We bonded over our respective daddy issues.  Isn’t that cute?”  The self-deprecating tone in his voice was all wrong.  This couldn’t be about his problems, his pain, his trauma.  _It couldn’t be._   “Anyway, he took me under his wing.  I really looked up to him and started working together with him on school things.  Projects and homework and the like.  Later on, I figured out he was stealing my ideas.  Stealing my inventions.”  Tony paused, studying Steve’s expression to try to glean how he was reacting to this.  He was unreadable beyond his obvious surprise.  His face was still so pale, eyes wide and lost.  “Selling them, as it turned out.  Using my work to get through school.  I couldn’t ever really prove it, but we both knew what he’d done.  When I finally confronted him about it, he treated me like… like this stupid, vulnerable, needy kid.”  God, wasn’t he pathetic?  Feeling hurt after all these years, after everything that had happened?  _Apparently._   And apparently this thing between them that had seemed irrelevant and inconsequential was anything but.  Tony drew a shaking breath.  “But he transferred, and I graduated, and–”

Steve grimaced and turned away.  He was trembling harder.  “I – I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Tony sighed.  “He’s… He was evil, Steve.  There’s nothing more to understand than that.”

“No,” Steve snapped.  “Don’t tell me that.  You don’t get to tell me that.  It’s not that simple.  I’ve faced evil, Tony.  I know what it is, what it looks like!  Don’t bury everything under that!  It doesn’t mean anything!”

Grimacing, Tony raised his hands in apology.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

“Tell me why,” Steve demanded again.

“Because he wanted to hurt me,” Tony confessed.  Steve glared at him.  Tony swallowed through a painfully dry throat and went on.  “Because he was a thief, and he stole everything he wanted.  He was a jealous, sadistic bastard, coveting things he couldn’t have.  He envied me.  He envied that I had you.  And he had to win.  He always had to.  Back when we were kids, now…  He _had_ to win.  He…”  Tony had to speak the truth, even if it wasn’t really his fault because there was no way he could have known.  That good dream he’d been having where he saw through Ty’s lies before any of this had happened?  Not real.  Even if Steve already knew the reason behind it all or suspected it, he had to be clear.  He had to be honest.  No lies.  No doubts.  Nothing but trust between them.  “He took you to beat me.  That’s what it comes down to.  It wasn’t for the serum.  It wasn’t to replicate it or extract it or sell it.  It wasn’t even to make himself younger.  At least not just that.  And it wasn’t anything you did.  I…  I had you, and he wanted you, and he wanted to prove that he could steal you without me knowing.  He wanted to win, and he used you to do it.”

Steve just stared.  His eyes seemed bottomless.  “He didn’t…   He never hurt you?”

Now Tony was the one who was reeling.  He clamped down on his surprise, though, and stood still.  Steve thought Ty had hurt him?  _Of course he would._   He’d known that the reason for his captivity involved Tony, that Ty knew Tony prior to snatching Steve off the oil rig.  Steve had said as much on that video before he’d been put into cryostasis.  But obviously he’d never reduced the situation down to a simple grudge.  No, Steve had automatically assumed Ty had struck at Tony, done something vile to him, far more than just stealing his inventions.  Or Tony had done something to stop him, to thwart some evil plot or some such, and Steve’s abduction was out of revenge.

It wasn’t any of that.  Tony felt lower than ever, cringing inwardly in shame and disgust.  “No.  He never hurt me.  I never hurt him.  Not like that.  Not like he…”  He struggled for strength.  “Not like he hurt you.  He took you because he could, and that’s…  That’s it.  You were…”  He closed his eyes a moment, fighting to get the words out.  “You were a trophy to him.”

Silence.  When Tony found the courage to look again, he saw Steve was still staring.  Maybe there would have been some nobility to everything had Steve’s suffering stemmed from more than some childhood manipulation.  If there had been physical blood as a foundation to the proverbial bad blood.  If there had been some greater cause, some grander threat.  But there wasn’t.  There was nothing more substantive than a random, psychotic madman wanting to flaunt his superiority over his perceived competition.  In the end, no matter how much Steve might have wanted to pull this apart and understand it, at its core was nothing but jealousy, spite, and cold, cruel _evil._

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered.  Tentatively he took a step closer.  He didn’t like the empty expression on Steve’s face, didn’t like the aching depth to Steve’s blank stare.  Tony could practically see him slipping.  “Steve?”

Steve didn’t look at Tony.  He was staring at the idle holographic interface, which was still glowing and washing them both in bright illumination.  Between that and the light of the arc reactor shining on him and the drapery of shadows around them, he didn’t look quite real.  In the background of the interface, the file with Ty’s message was blinking to indicate it had finished playing.  Blinking and blinking, like the thuds of Tony’s breaking heart.  “I should have told you,” he said, desperate to do something to save the man he loved from this final torture.  “I should have explained.  But I wasn’t brave enough.  I’m not as brave as you, not by half.  This whole thing was my fault, and I couldn’t protect you from someone out to hurt me.”  His voice nearly broke, but he didn’t stop.  “It’s my fault.  He was a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, back then and now and for the whole of his life, and I didn’t–”

“He’s dead,” Steve softly interrupted.  He’d certainly heard that part of the video, where Ty was accepting his own imminent demise.  “You killed him.”

Tony nodded.  “I killed him.  He’s dead.  They found his body today.  Finally.”

Steve didn’t react to that at all.  His eyes finally focused back on Tony as if he’d processed something and was moving onto whatever was next.  “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Of course.  He could never hide anything from Steve.  There could have been other truths Steve meant, like how Tony had nearly leveled a city block and killed innocents to find him, like how he’d paid criminals for information on Steve’s whereabouts, like how he’d obsessively guarded the Tower out of irrational fear.  Like how he’d fucking _given up the search._   But somehow…  He knew what he needed to say.  “The videos they took of what they did to you…”

And that was _all_ he needed to say.  Steve knew him too well, knew his mind better than he knew it himself sometimes.  “You have them,” he whispered.  It didn’t seem possible, but he paled even further.  “You watched them?”

It was time to offer his excuses.  They weren’t going to be enough, but he had to try.  He owed Steve that much.  “I had to,” he gently offered.  “I had to know.  I had to understand.  I had to…  God, Steve, I had to see what he did to you.”

“Why?” Steve whispered.  His voice was barely anything.

“Because I had to help you,” Tony said.  “And, yeah, it was me, so I can’t deny that I had to know for the sake of knowing.  My obsessions and guilty conscience needed to be appeased.  But more than that I love you.  I love you so much, Steve, so I had to help you.  There wasn’t a choice.  You were so scared, so disconnected from reality…  So lost.  I had to find a way to get through to you.”

Steve’s composure all but crumbled.  “You had no right, Tony!” he cried, turning away.  His voice was loud now, thick with rage, with grief.  “You had no right to do that!  _You had no right!”_

“I know,” Tony said softly.  It took all his strength to keep his own tone level and calm.  “I know.  And you have every right to feel betrayed or afraid or angry or whatever it is you’re feeling.”

Steve turned around, his eyes flashing more wildly than Tony had ever seen.  “You don’t know what I’m feeling!  Stop telling me it’s okay when it’s not.  You have no fucking idea what it was like!”

Tony braved another step closer to the storm because this was his opportunity, his chance to get Steve to talk, and he had to take it.  “Then tell me.  Tell me everything, Steve.  I saw what they did to you.  I told you before when you were sick, but you probably don’t remember, don’t know how hard I tried to understand.  I want to understand how you feel, so tell me.”

“No,” Steve moaned, shaking his head.  He staggered away to those massive windows, grabbing at his hair.  “No, I don’t want to.  I can’t!  I can’t!”

“Yes, you can.  You can, Steve.”  Steve was still shaking his head, alternating between pulling at his hair and squeezing at his skull.  The motion seemed to symbolize the battle inside him that he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.  The war he had to win.  Tony watched, not daring a single step closer.  Not yet.  That cornered animal analogy was feeling more and more appropriate.  “Tell me.  You can do this.”

Steve barked a sob, face clenched tight into an expression of utter misery.  “You don’t know what it was like!”  Tony didn’t argue, didn’t agree, didn’t say anything.  He just stood there and waited for Steve to work through what he was feeling, waited for him to continue.  Steve’s ragged breathing slowed a little, and he stopped ripping at his hair quite so viciously.  “You don’t know…  Oil rig goes up, and I thought for sure I was dead.  I thought that was it, that I was going die and never see you again.  I was scared for Nat and Clint and all those people, and I was terrified for you.  Terrified of leaving you.”  Steve shook his head.  “But I wake up, and they’ve got me.  I didn’t know who they were.  Who _he_ was.  I figured he was some sort of… deranged scientist.  I thought right away they wanted me for the serum.  Why else would they treat the burns?  Why else would they take _me_ to begin with?  If they wanted me dead, they could have let me die.  But they didn’t.”

“No,” Tony said softly.  “They didn’t.”

Steve’s eyes were bright, feverishly so, and teeming with tears.  “No, they let me heal.  Tied me up and gagged me and put me inside a cell on a truck so they could take me away, and they hooked me up to meds that did nothing and let me heal.  They were watching me constantly, guns on me all the time, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t hardly breathe.  It was miserable, but I didn’t let them see how much it hurt.  I kept thinking I had to be strong.  Nat and Clint would realize I’d been taken.  They know something was up.  They’d call you, call in the rest of the team, and you guys would figure it out.  So I just had to hang on.”

He heaved a shivery sigh and started pacing.  “Then they brought me… brought me _there_.  I had no idea where it was.  They dragged me down into that lab, forced me… forced me on that table.  I couldn’t fight.  Couldn’t stop them.  Couldn’t even scream.  And he was there.  Watching.  Telling them what to do like they were his puppets.  They…”  He shuddered.  “They put those things in me.  I couldn’t do anything to stop them.  I was already too weak from the burns, and it hurt…  God, it hurt.  They didn’t care.  They treated me like he treated me.  I was just something to study.  Something to use.  Something they were being _paid_ to work on.  I felt every single one of those things go into my body, felt every touch, every _tool_ …  No one cared.  And when I thought it was over…”

Tony told the next part of the story in a soft voice.  “They hooked you up to the machine.”  Steve turned to him, wide-eyed and horrified, and nodded.  Tony could picture it.  He’d seen it, after all, watched these horrors play out right in front of him, just as Ty had intended.  He had to ask, had to make Steve talk about it.  “What did it feel like?”

Steve shivered, grabbing at his arms as he walked back and forth in front of the couches and shaking his head.  He still answered.  “Felt cold.  Hurt.  Hurt so much.  Felt like…  When I was little, I got sick once, real, real sick, and everyone thought I was going to die.  Ma and Bucky and Buck’s ma and all the doctors.  After a while, I thought it, too.  I _felt_ it inside me, something worse than pain, worse than ice, worse than anything.  Like this thing slowly eating at you until there’s nothing else.  It’s crushing your chest until you can’t breathe, settling in your bones until you can’t move, squeezing your heart until it can’t beat again.  Only your heart keeps beating and you keep breathing and after a while, you just wish it was true, that this really was the end, so it’d stop.”  He squeezed his eyes shut, and his pace picked up.  “But it _never_ stopped.  Every second in that thing was like that, like I was riding the edge between life and death forever, nothing could ever push me over or pull me back.”  _Jesus._

“Then they’d throw me in that cell like I was nothing,” Steve said after a lengthy pause during which Tony felt nothing but sick.  Steve practically mauled his lower lip, chewing it hard, and Tony could see the anger building more.  “It wasn’t like it ended when they did.  That feeling went on for hours, even after I stopped shaking till my bones ached and puking my guts out.  It was like it had changed me.  Like he’d really taken something.  I was empty.  I was so hungry, so fucking _tired,_ but I couldn’t sleep or eat.  I had to…”

“You had to fight them.”

“Had to.  Kept thinkin’ that, that I _had_ to.  They couldn’t take the serum.  Couldn’t let them have that.  I didn’t know why he wanted it, what he wanted, but I knew I had to stop him.  So every chance I got I fought.  Once or twice I made it out.  Killed some of them.  Saw the sun.  Got so fucking close…”  He turned away, hands clenching to fists at his side.  “But I was never strong enough to escape.  I hated myself for that, hated that the serum kept trying to heal me and pushing those things out of my body and making those bastards put them back and forcing me to go through that hell over and over again.  I hated that the serum wouldn’t let me _forget_ how much time was passing, either.  And it’s sick, but I reveled in makin’ ’em angry.  When they beat me, when I pissed him off…  It felt like a victory.  It was stupid to keep doing it, but I couldn’t stop.  It was the only power I had.  The only thing I could control.”

“Your choice.  Whether or not you fought them,” Tony said.  Steve nodded, stopping for a second and dropping his chin to his chest.  Tony stared at him and decided to push further.  “Whether or not you ate.”

Steve flinched, choking on a sob.  He was shaking so violently.  “They made me,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“It hurt.  Every time.  You think I’d get used to it, used to all of it, day in and day out…  But I never did.  _Every single time it hurt!_ ”

“I know, love.”

“And it was so fucking humiliating.  Degrading.” God, that reminded Tony of Steve’s first day back in the Tower after they left the hospital.  How ashamed Steve had seemed.  How frustrated and furious and _violated._   “Like I was some machine they could refill.  I could never stop them.  I tried so hard!  I tried and tried…  Never mattered.  Nothing I did mattered.  In some ways…”  Steve gave a twisted, rueful grin, the sort a man teetering on the brink of insanity might give at the thing that was threatening to push him over.  He went back to pacing, harder and faster.  “In some ways that was worse than the surgeries, worse than the machine, worse than the beatings.  I hated it.”

It felt so inadequate, but it was all Tony could say.  “I know.”

Steve grunted another twisted laugh.  “You know, he stood there and watched once, watched me try to escape the restraints I could never break, watched them… put that thing in my mouth to keep it open, watched them shove that tube down my throat…  Listened to me scream.  And then he laughed and said it nice knowing his animal was being properly fed.”

Tony could have screamed himself.  He didn’t, though.  He still had to stay calm, be a solid anchor in this hellish maelstrom, because if he didn’t, Steve would be lost.  He’d drown.  He’d _fall._   Steve shook his head, getting more and more agitated.  He was practically grinding a hole into the floor with how hard he was pivoting as he walked.  “I’ve lived my life thinking the best of people.  I try not to hate.  I _know_ evil, but I’ve tried so hard to never let it touch me.  Never let it get to me.”  Tony watched Steve struggle to confess what he knew Steve considered a massive failing.  It was bullshit, but he wasn’t going to demean Steve’s thought process.  Steve shook his head more.  “But he did.  He got to me.  He made me hate him.  I decided right there that I was going to get back at him.  For you.  For me.  I was going to hurt him any way I could, which, in case you failed to notice, was hardly anything.  I couldn’t stop him from draining the serum out of me.  I couldn’t stop him from taking it for himself.  I kept getting sicker and weaker and skinnier, but all the fighting I did from then on…  It was to _hurt_ him.”

That was devastating to hear, crushing to consider.  Steve had knelt in his last moments before cryostasis, _finally_ speaking to Ty after months of being silenced and forced in submission.  He’d _defied_ Ty and used his faith in Tony to do it. Maybe it hadn’t been because he’d really believed in Tony coming to rescue him.  It’d been because he’d figured out Tony was Ty’s weak point, Ty’s insecurity, and he wanted to strike at him the only way he could.  It had been out of hate, rather than love.  That turned everything sour, _everything,_ because _that_ moment had been the one to restore Tony’s faith.  It had given Tony strength, courage, fortitude in the face of so much horror.  And now… 

 _It’s not true._   Tony couldn’t say that, but he was thinking it.  He had to think it.  _It’s not true._

“Now he’s dead.  Or he always was, I guess, and no one knew.  No one bothered to tell me one way or another.  It doesn’t matter.”  Steve sighed, throwing up his arms in exasperation.  “Fantastic, right?  Everything’s the way it should be.  Your childhood nemesis is gone, the team’s back together, we’re back together, and Captain America’s back, so it’s all good!  Let’s move on.  We can now.  Hurray.”  He balled his hands into fists again and stopped his agitated pacing, turning to Tony.  “But you know what?  You know what, Tony?  Even in this, I have no power and no control.  I didn’t get to face him again.  I didn’t get to hurt him.  I didn’t even get to kill him.  _You did._ ”  Tony bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.  _It’s the anger talking.  Steve wouldn’t.  It’s anger._   Steve’s glare was cutting, vitriolic.  Even during the worst of their spats before they’d come together, even during the occasional painful argument after they’d married, Steve had _never_ looked at him like this.  The resentment was nearly tangible, and it was as sharp as a knife.  “You took that from me, too.”

This was it.  _Stay quiet.  He needs to say it.  He doesn’t mean it._   _All that hate and anger and pain…  It needs to get out.  He needs to let it out._ Those thoughts pounded through Tony’s head with every strained pulse of his heart.  He was scared.  So scared.  _Let him say it.  Let him get it out.  Let him._ He _couldn’t_ be scared.  He couldn’t fail now.  This was where he needed to keep his faith in Steve, in Steve’s love for him, in their love together.  No matter what.  _He’ll come back to you.  Just let him say it._

And then Steve said it.  Even with Tony preparing himself, it still pierced right through his defenses and slashed open his heart.  “I hate you.”

It was hardly more than anything, a soft, seething whisper.  Steve was shaking, like he knew how horrible it was but he just couldn’t stop himself.  It was so wrong, so not like him.  It wasn’t _Steve_ talking now, because Steve was good and pure of heart and strong beyond measure.  Steve was untouchable.  No, the pain was speaking, and it was lashing out, seeking vengeance.  Tony knew that.

But when Steve said it a second time, even _knowing that,_ it still hurt so much.  “I hate you for that,” he hissed.  “For _all_ of it.”  Broken blue eyes stared long and hard, and there was nothing but fury in them.  “It’s your fault.  Your fault he took me.  Your fault he did this to me.  I…”  Steve began pacing again.  He was cracking before Tony’s eyes, like the heinous nature of his words was breaking him from within.  “You beat him, brought me back, because I’m your trophy too, aren’t I?  What everyone called me when we got married.  Your… _boy toy._ ”

“You know that’s not true,” Tony whispered.

Steve stopped and glared at him.  It was vicious.  “Isn’t it?  Rich men, powerful men…  They get what they want.  Always gotta be on top of the world.  Gotta own everything.  That’s what I am.  Something _you_ own.”  He gestured at his own chest.  “Property of Stark Industries!”

“No,” Tony said more firmly.  “Steve, I love–”

“You said it yourself!  You had me, and he wanted me, so he took me.  That’s it.  That’s all it was!”  Steve scowled.  It felt like he was baiting, like he was spewing these hateful lies to goad Tony into fighting him.  To hurt because he’d been hurt.  Tony didn’t answer.  _Let him get it out.  He needs to.  Let him get it out._  “Oh, so now you got nothing to say?  You bastard.  Goddamn son of a bitch.  I am not your trophy any more than I was his.  You fucking hear me?  You don’t own me!  You don’t control me!”  Still Tony stayed silent.  The words were like they were the first time Steve had said something like this, only worse.  Sharper.  Thorns instead of barbs, cutting into his skin and digging in.  _Let him do this.  It’ll be okay.  It’ll be okay._

God, he hoped he was right.

Eventually Steve looked away with a short, frustrated grunt and went on, pacing harder, racing through chaotic thoughts.  “And if you loved me, _if you loved me,_ you would have come.  I know you stopped looking, Tony!  I know you did!”  Tony bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood.  Steve raged on.  “Nobody told me anything, but I figured it out.  I want to know why.  I spent so much time in that cell, waiting for _you_.  Talking to you.  _Praying_ for you.”  His voice broke.  Sobs threatened.  He was hurting, ashamed of what he was saying but too lost in the tempest of pain and rage to stop.  “I dreamt you were with me, that you were there.  That you’d found me and you’d come to take me home.  And I kept telling myself it was okay.  I had to keep going, keep fighting, because you needed me to.”  The words came faster, even more twisted by grief.  “You’d figure out whatever lie he’d spun.  I knew you would.  I made myself believe it, believe in you.  So I had to hang on for you.  I had to hang on and wait.  I waited and waited.  Days.  Weeks.  _Months!_ ”

“Steve…”  Tony could barely find his voice.  “Ask me.  Go on.”

Steve turned to him.  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared right at him, eyes bright and demanding.  “Why’d you leave me there?  Why didn’t you find me?  Why didn’t you come for me?”  His voice broke as it climbed into a desperate shout.  _“Why’d you give up on me?”_  

It was silent.  Steve was breathing heavily, waiting again for an answer.  Tony had none to give him.  He could explain about how far he’d fallen, how reckless he’d become.  He could tell him about Manila, about the hundred other moments that could have ended in a disaster like that.  About the obsession he’d suffered, the nightmares he’d had, the endless days he’d spent studying the explosion on the oil rig and the equally endless nights he’d devoted to blindly searching the world.  He had said it all before, perhaps without the details but certainly with the remorse and regret.  Certainly with the guilt.

But he didn’t, because guilt didn’t mean a thing.  An apology wasn’t enough. 

Steve didn’t wait anymore.  His emotions at long last completely overwhelmed him, and his restraint snapped in the face of the flood.  With one hand he grabbed the coffee table, the huge, heavy piece of wood, and threw it like it was nothing.  It crashed into the window, shattering it.  Glass fell in a dazzling cascade, glittering and twinkling as it did.  Wood cracked and splintered.  Tony’s laptop and phone hit the floor and were immediately crushed by debris.  Colored pencils and charcoals went flying.  Coffee splashed, and Steve’s sketchbook ended up outside, dropping down five or six feet to the landscaping below.  Everything was breaking, smashing.  Scattering.  It almost seemed to happen in slow motion, but it wasn’t really. 

Once more it was quiet save for pounding hearts and shallow breaths and the twinkling of glass as the shards settled.  Steve stood a few feet from where the window had been, where all this wreckage was now, and just stared.  Tony stared, too.  Outside it was still so quiet, the whisper of the waves against the shore down the way lulling and sweet.  The moon was watching, casting its unearthly glow on the ocean and the beach.  Warm air from the balmy Floridian night swept inside the mansion with its arms wide open, offering a tender hug.  The gossamer drapes rustled, the plants throughout the room shifting and swaying with the breeze.  It felt fresh and strong and shockingly powerful.

And Steve took a deep breath of it and just collapsed.  He went down hard on his knees, landing with a thud.  The sob that came out of him was deep, a wail that was barely stifled.  More cries followed, each louder and more ragged.  He shook as he knelt there and openly wept, the wide expanse of the world before him, the cell keeping him imprisoned away from it finally, _finally_ broken.

Tony let him sob by himself a moment or two.  The pain in his own chest was almost unbearable, but it was soothed by greater knowledge.  Greater understanding.  This had to happen.  Steve had to talk, to really cry, to _truly_ free himself from the anguish crushing him.  Now that he had, now that he was falling…  Tony could catch him.

So he did.  On light footfalls he came closer, confident but not at all careless in his approach.  Steve didn’t seem to notice, deeply consumed in crying.  Tony sighed gently and dropped to a crouch beside him.  He wasn’t afraid to touch him, even with all that anger and resentment and accusation out in the open.  He wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.  He set his hand to Steve’s shoulder.

Steve immediately lurched and tried to pull away, clamping down hard on his sobs.  Tony didn’t let him.  “No, no.  Let it out.  Shhh.  You don’t have to be brave now, Steve.  It’s alright.  It’s alright.”  He scooted closer, sitting to press his body right up to Steve’s.  He put his arms around him.  Steve was stiff a little longer, weakly fighting more out of instinct than anything else, but after a few seconds of Tony holding him, he stopped.  He grabbed Tony’s arm where it was across his chest, digging his fingernails in just to hold on, and cried.  “That’s it.  Let it out.  It’s alright.  It’s alright, sweetheart.”

Steve didn’t argue.  Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t catch his breath between his sobs to manage it.  This was worse than anything, worse than the panic attack, worse than all the times he’d broken down before.  He tucked himself more into Tony and grabbed harder.   It was hard enough that it hurt, but Tony didn’t react, stroking Steve’s hair and moving with him as he rocked and shuddered through his grief.  Minutes slipped away like this.  They held no import, no meaning.  There was nothing but a broken soul struggling to shrug off its pain and breathe again.

It felt like Steve was going to crush his arm.  “Why?” he finally whispered.  “Why?”

Tony didn’t know about what specifically Steve was asking.  Why this had happened.  Why Tony hadn’t come for him.  Why everything hurt so much.  It didn’t matter.  “I don’t know.  I wish I did.”

“Even… Even when I – even when I was in the tank, I dreamt you were coming.  I kept waking up at home, in our bed, and you were there because you brought me back.”  Steve’s voice was so faint, the words so slurred and rushed, that Tony could hardly make them out.  This was the confirmation, though.  The proof that Steve had dreamed in the tank, that he’d never been unconscious deeply enough to protect him.  “That was…  Worse than everything else in the end.  I kept thinking it was over, but it was never over.  You were never there.”

Tony clenched his eyes shut against the fresh sting of tears.  How terrible that must have been, to be tortured by his own dreams like that.  Tony knew it all too well.  The hundreds of long, sleepless nights he’d had while Steve had been gone, lying half-awake with every nerve in his body screaming that something was wrong, that Steve needed him…  “I know.”

“I – I knew something was…  Time was going on, and I was in there, and I knew those dreams weren’t right, but I got confused and – and I was afraid he’d left me to hurt you.”

“No,” Tony hushed.  “No.”

“You had to be hurt.  He stopped you from coming.  He had to, because I knew you’d come.  I knew it.  But I’d wake up in – in there and you were gone again – _always gone_ – and I couldn’t understand because if you were okay, if the team was okay, you’d find me.  I was so sure you would.  You had to.  You’d figure it out.  You’d _know_ that I was still alive.”

“I knew it, love.”  Tony closed his eyes.  He’d promised this before.  Sworn it.  “I knew in my heart.”

“Then why?” Steve whispered.  “Why didn’t you come?”

It wasn’t a fair question.  It hadn’t been moments ago, and it wasn’t now.  There was no way to distill the crazy, desperate situation through which Tony had suffered down to a neat, simple answer.  The question had _never_ been fair, no matter who asked it or how many times it had been asked.  No matter the fact that it had to be asked.

However, simply because a question demanded asking didn’t mean it had an answer.  So much of acceptance was that realization.  Tony swallowed down the pain in his throat, taking a deep, cleansing breath.  “I can’t change what happened,” he murmured softly into Steve’s hair.  “I can’t undo what he did to you.  I can’t make his reasons more meaningful.  I can’t make his death more meaningful, either.  I can’t solve this, Steve, and I can’t fix it.  If I could, I would, but I can’t.  I can’t change the fact that I lost hope.  I can’t ever forgive myself for it.  I can’t undo watching those videos.  I can’t erase the knowledge from my brain.  And I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I failed you.  I failed as your teammate, as your partner.  I failed as your friend and your husband.  I failed as the man who loves you and who you love.  You should never have been swept up into this.  Never.  And the fact that you were, the fact that I couldn’t save you in time…”  Tony swallowed.  It was just as Ty had said.  “It will haunt me for forever.  For the rest of my days.”

Steve shivered at that.  Tony didn’t say anything further for a bit, shivering himself.  Then he took another breath.  “But the thing is…  You’re alive.  We both are.  And he’s not.  Maybe he thought he got the last word, the last laugh…  But if you strip all his taunts and insults and bullshit away, he’s still dead.”

“What does it matter?” Steve whispered.  “Damage’s done.”

“It is,” Tony agreed, “but it doesn’t have to define you.  It doesn’t own you.  _He_ doesn’t own you.  I told you, Steve.  The only power he has is what you give him.”  He pulled back.  Steve kept his face lowered, hands returning to rake at his hair.  Gently Tony stopped him.  He cradled Steve’s face and lifted it so their eyes met.  All the fury from before was gone, spent.  The grief had poured out, too.  Now there was only what was underneath, and that was Steve, so lost and so afraid.  Stripped bare and hurting and desperate for someone to comfort him, to be the source of strength and courage he always was for everyone else.

That he always was for Tony, even when he’d lain in a hospital bed, nonverbal and too traumatized to move.  The video JARVIS had found, the one that had shown Steve defying Ty, the one that Tony had questioned moments ago as Steve had sunk so deeply into bitterness and agony…  Tony shook his head.  “He thought he won?  He didn’t win.  You got away from him.  You got back up.  You stood up to him then and you can now.  He thought he took Captain America.  _Bullshit_.  He didn’t take _anything_.  _You’re_ Captain America.  You always have been, and you still are.  It’s like I promised before: you can get it all back.”

“Can’t,” Steve whispered.  He’d said that today so many times, defeat holding his soul captive.  “I can’t do this.  I can’t!”

And Tony kept saying the same things, too, over and over again, because Steve needed to hear them.  Because they were true.  “Yes, you can,” he declared slowly, evenly, never once glancing from Steve’s wet eyes.  “You can.  _You can._ ”  Wordlessly Steve shook his head.  “No, no.  Listen to me.  Listen.”  Tony gripped his face tighter, and Steve’s hands came to grasp his forearms.  Tony didn’t let him go, _never_ looking away.  He didn’t so much as blink.  “He tried to take the serum.  He tried to take your body.  Tried to take your will.  Tried to take your _life_ to restore his.  He touched you, tortured you, treated you like nothing more than a resource.  Demeaned you and humiliated you and degraded you.  Put you in that tank.  Reduced you to his trophy.  He did all those things, Steve, but he didn’t beat you.”

Steve blinked loose fresh tears.  “How do you know?”

“Because he couldn’t.”  Steve closed his eyes, shaking his head.  _Tony didn’t let him._ “I watched you defy him.  On those videos he made, I watched you _fight_.  Over and over again.  You struggled.  You didn’t give up.  They did unspeakable things to you, things you couldn’t stop, but every time they came to take you from that cell and force you to submit, you struck back and did so with your head held high.  That’s how I know, Steve.  He thinks he left me a legacy of nightmares?  He did.  But he also left me a testament to your strength and courage.”

Steve grimaced, made to object, but Tony went on before he could.  “Yes, sweetheart.  _That’s_ what he left.  And when I was crushed and scared with you so sick in the hospital, I watched you.  I watched you beaten up and tied up and on your knees in front of him.  You weren’t scared.  You weren’t defeated.  You weren’t broken, and you weren’t fighting out of spite or hate.  You were fighting out of love and faith.”

“I don’t…  I–”

“I _know_ you, Steve.  Trust me.  I could see it in your eyes.  He took you, but he didn’t have you.  Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but I know it in my heart.  He never had _you_.”  Steve searched Tony’s face.  There was a hint of understanding in his eyes.  A glint of that faith returning.  Tony nodded.  “This rage you’re feeling?  It’s not going to change you.  You’re too good for that.  He couldn’t change who you are.  And he died, in pain and alone and scared.  You?  You’re here, sweetheart.  You’re alive.  You’re not alone.  You don’t have to be scared.  You don’t have to be.  And the pain?  _It will get better._ ”  Again, Steve tried to shake his head, but it was even weaker, and Tony could easily stop it.  Tony smiled, sweeping his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones.  “It will.  Trust me.”

“Tony…”

“He won the battle, but he’s going to lose the war.  You know why?  Because the _only_ way he wins is if you _let_ him.”  Tony grinned widely, shrugging just a bit nonchalantly, making it all simple.  “So don’t let him.  Don’t give up.  Don’t let this destroy you.  Don’t let it break you.  It’s not going to be easy.  It’ll take time and patience and hard work.  But if you stand up again, stand and take back your life, stand like you always do…  It’s your victory to take.  He _won’t_ win, not as long as you keep fighting, Steve.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  He was trembling still, searching still.  “What if I can’t?”

Tony laughed softly, not at all condescendingly.  “Seriously?  Are you really asking that?  The man who took down HYDRA, who flew on a suicide mission into enemy territory to save his best friend?  The man who beat the Red Skull and then sacrificed himself to save the world?  The man who just walked through hell and emerged as powerful and beautiful as ever?”  Steve blushed and bit his lip hard.  Tony stopped him now like he wanted to before, with a sweet kiss.  When he pulled away, he smiled.  “It’s not Captain America who doesn’t quit.  That’s all you, love.”  There was a timid nod.  Tony softened his smile, softened his voice to a gentle murmur.  “You remember what you told me when we got married?”

They’d written their own vows.  Steve’s hadn’t been long, but they’d been so powerful.  Steve’s lips quivered as he spoke.  “I… I told you…”

“You told me,” Tony said, “that you belong with me, that fate brought you here to stand at my side.”  Just as Steve had said that snowy afternoon in December on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths, when Steve had come to save him from his grief and bitterness and solitude.  “You promised me you always would.”

“I broke that promise,” Steve whispered.

Lightly Tony laughed again.  “No.  God, Steve, no!  Don’t you see?  You _kept_ it.  You came back to me.”  He stroked Steve’s cheeks.  “You came back to me!”

Steve gasped a sob, grabbing at Tony’s arms and frantically pulling him closer until their mouths met in a desperate kiss.  Tony was surprised a second, but not for more than that, grasping Steve tightly and kissing deeply.  Steve tasted like tears, and he was still shivering, but he was warm and wanting.  _Wanting._ Like he always did.  Not simply submitting, but seeking.  Tony wrapped his arms around him, held on as tightly as he could, and lost himself to the kiss, to this moment.  There was nothing before it.  Nothing after.  Just this.

 It was only for the need to breathe that Tony pulled away.  Steve blinked, watching him with muzzy eyes and kiss-swollen lips.  Tony held Steve’s face between his hands and rested his forehead against Steve’s like he had so often these last days.  They shared a few soft kisses, lips brushing lightly, before Tony said, “You came back to me.  Please don’t leave me now.”  Steve gave a shivery sigh to that.  “Please don’t shut me out.  I can’t stand it, Steve.  It hurts so much.  Whatever it is you’re feeling, it’s okay.  I want to help you.  I love you!  I can’t watch you suffer and not be able to help.”

Steve frowned against his lips.  “Tony, I’m scared.”

“I know you are.  I know.  But all you have to do is let me in.  Please, love.  Together, we can do things no one else can.  We can lead the Avengers.  We can run Stark Industries.  We can make the world greener, make it brighter, make it better.  We can protect people.  You showed me how to be a better man.  And we can face this together.  We can, Steve.  Together we can beat it.  Together we can beat anything.”  He grinned again, running his thumbs along Steve’s jaw, through the soft hair of his beard.  “You remember what I told you in my vows.”

Steve gave a small nod.  “You said I taught you how to love,” he said.  “And I taught you how to believe.”

“You did.  I still can’t put my faith in God or fate.  But I will always, _always,_ have faith in you and in us.  That day before he took you, and I was freaking out about being older than you…  Remember?  You said anything could separate us.  Our lives are dangerous ones, and either of us could die at any time.  And I was so scared.  So scared of losing you, of leaving you.  But I know now that I don’t need to be scared, because the bond between us…  It can’t be broken, not by time or distance.  Not even by death.”  Tony smiled.  “I believe that, now more than ever.”

Steve nodded again.  “So do I.”  He sagged into Tony’s arms.  “So do I!”

Tony smiled and pulled Steve’s face close again, kissing him soundly.  Immediately Steve opened his mouth to it and let Tony in.  It was slow and tender.  Reaffirming.  Purposeful.  Powerful.  Steve slid his arms around Tony’s neck, drawing him in more, and the pain, the rage, the grief and betrayal and frustration…  It all receded.  It wasn’t going to go away so easily; that was for certain.  But this…  This felt like a start.

Eventually Steve’s kissing turned less enthusiastic and more exhausted.  Tony leaned back, staring into Steve’s eyes, and the storm that had been building and building for days…  It was quiet.  Calm.  As soft and steady as the moon outside shedding light over the world.  The shaking had finally stopped, too, and Steve was lax and pliant against him.  His eyelids were drooping.  Tony kissed his forehead.  “Come on.  Let me get you to bed.”

Steve let Tony pull him up to his feet.  Once he did, his gaze wandered past Tony’s face, and his eyes widened with sudden dismay as he beheld the wreckage of the broken coffee table and smashed window.  “Oh, God…” he moaned, horrified.  “Jesus.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

“Shhh,” Tony hushed with a smile, putting his arm around Steve’s shoulders and turning him away from the mess he’d made.  “It’s alright.  If it makes you feel better, you can smash every window in the place.  Lord knows you deserve to.”

“I could’ve hurt you,” Steve said, teetering on the edge of crying again.

“You didn’t, and you wouldn’t, so it doesn’t matter.”  Tony wiped the tears away.  “No more.  Bed.”

Slowly they made their way back into their bedroom, winding through the dimly lit hallways of the mansion’s living wing.  Once inside their suite, Tony closed the door behind them.  Steve didn’t seem terribly interested in being apart from him even for a second, holding his hand wherever he moved.  That was fine.  Tony didn’t really feel like letting him go.  He led him over to the bed, which was awash in the moonlight that was streaming through the French doors to the terrace.  Steve sat on the side of the mattress as Tony undressed, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling off his shoes and pants.  The arc reactor’s blue glow was entrancing, the way it lit Steve’s weary face as he watched.

Then Tony set his hands to Steve’s shoulders.  “You want to wear this to bed?”

Steve looked down at the Stark Industries sweatshirt.  He was clearly battling insecurities and his emotions anew.  “I didn’t mean what I said,” he whispered, shaking his head sharply.  He looked up at Tony.  “I love this shirt!”

Tony laughed, brushing his fingers through Steve’s hair.  “I know you do, babe.  But you don’t have to wear it all the time.  I mean, I love that you do, don’t get me wrong.  But you’re absolutely right: you are not my trophy.  You’re husband and my partner and my best friend, and the only thing that I own in this life that’s worth anything is the privilege of loving you, so until I get a matching ‘Property of Steven Grant Rogers’ one, it doesn’t seem fair.”

Steve’s cheeks reddened again, and he couldn’t stop a little grin.  He hesitated a bit longer before taking the collar of the sweatshirt and pulling it upward.  Tony grinned himself and helped Steve get it over his head.  Steve kept his undershirt on, but this was something.  “Ass up, Cap,” Tony joked, working down Steve’s sweatpants so that he was only wearing his boxers.  He smiled, kneeling in between Steve’s knees.  “Doing okay?”

All the sudden that simple question nearly had Steve sobbing again.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  He looked devastated anew but for different reasons.

Tony understood.  He’d been there more than once in his life.  “Steve, baby, it’s alright.”

Steve’s eyes welled with new tears.  “No, it’s not.  I…  What I said…  It was awful.  So awful.  I’m so sorry.  I was wrong.  So wrong.  I don’t hate you!  I – I don’t blame you!  I could never…  I didn’t mean it, Tony!”

“Of course you didn’t,” Tony comforted.  It was easy to summon the confidence he needed, to be airy and nonchalant even if Steve’s words had hurt before and Tony had been afraid.  He’d still known, though.  _Steve will never give up on me._ “And even if you did, I kinda had it coming.”

Steve was back to chewing his lip raw and shaking his head.  “No.  No, you saved my life.  You took care of me when I couldn’t move, couldn’t walk or dress or feed myself.  You got me through.  You _saved_ me, Tony, and I owe you everything, and I–”

“And you what?  You needed to vent?”  Sharply Steve looked away, stiff with shame.  “Good.  I’m glad you got angry, glad you got it out.  You needed to.  You’re allowed to be angry, Steve.”

“Tony–”

“We’re not arguing about this.  It’s not worth it.  It’s over and done with.  _This_ we can close the book on, okay?  You can get pissed.  You can say things you don’t mean and even stuff you do.  I can take it.  Lord knows you’ve taken my shit over the years.  ’Bout time I returned the favor.”  Steve didn’t look wholly convinced, battling tears and his shame yet.  The vicious things he’d said were like distant echoes, soft but still noticeable.  Tony shook his head.  “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve told me things I didn’t want to hear.  If Ty Stone thought this would make you pissed at me, he obviously never saw you tear me a new one for not following orders on the battlefield.”  Steve’s lips curled in a weak smile.  It was hardly anything, but it made Tony feel like he was on top of the world.  “Look, I’ll forgive you if it makes you feel better, but there’s nothing to forgive.  You needed to get what you were feeling out.  You needed to talk.  Bottling all that up inside…  It was killing you, love.”

It was obvious Steve was trying to accept that, but Steve was Steve, and it was hard for Steve to excuse actions he deemed selfish or immoral, particularly his own (not that he made them that often).  It was even harder for him to admit that he hurt, that he needed help.  Tony knew that all too well.  He kissed Steve’s tears away.  “No more now,” he implored again.  “This is going to sound very much _not_ like something I’d say, but…  Sleep.  Tomorrow’s a new day.  And things will be better.  One step at a time, things will get better.  I know it.  It’s alright.”  Tony smiled again.  “Come on.  Let’s get you settled.”

“Tony…”

“What?”

Steve struggled a second.  He raised his gaze when he finally spoke.  “What if…  God, I can’t…”

Tony rubbed his thighs.  “You can.  What?”

Another second of hesitation passed.  “What if he really did rape me?”

It took a lot for Tony to keep the pain from his face.  It surged up inside him, all these fears and pains he’d quieted over the last few days roaring to the surface.  Steve looked away again, so ashamed.  “Ever since…  Ever since you asked me, I…  I can’t stop thinking about it.  Worrying about it.  I…”  Steve drew a deep breath and steeled himself.  “There are things I can’t remember clearly.  Gaps that I…  What if he _did_ … and I can’t…  I just don’t…”  He squeezed his eyes shut again.  “I’m scared about what it means.”

“What does it mean?” Tony asked calmly.

Steve jabbed his teeth into his lower lip again, fighting to say what he wanted.  “That I’m…  I’m damaged even more than I was.  That something that was only between you and me…  He took that, too.  Ruined it.  And I’m scared I’ll never…  That when we make love, I’ll never feel…”

“Steve.”  Steve stopped rambling, opening his eyes and meeting Tony’s gaze.  “He didn’t rape you.”

The words alone were enough to fill Steve’s face with so much desperate hope.  “How do you know?”

“Because I do,” Tony said.  He took Steve’s hands and squeezed them tight.  “Because I looked through every byte of data from his lab.  I watched everything I could.  I hunted like mad to find some proof.  There wasn’t any.  There was _nothing._   He flaunted every other part of what he did to you in my face.  I can’t imagine he’d keep something that awful to himself.  So if you don’t remember and there’s no evidence, it didn’t happen.”

Steve wasn’t appeased.  “But how do you _know_?”  He blinked loose new tears.  “How can you be sure?”

“I can’t be,” Tony conceded.  “But this is what I’m choosing to think, because even if I’m wrong and it did happen, it doesn’t matter.  It could never matter.”  He cupped Steve’s cheek and firmly held his gaze.  “Sometimes we can’t know.  And sometimes we have to hunt for the truth no matter what it takes.  But sometimes?  Sometimes we just have to believe.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Steve whispered.

“You can.  Those vows, love.  You taught me how once, so I can teach you now.  You’re scared of what he did.  Scared of what you can’t remember.  Scared of the threat, of your nightmares.  Scared of being naked, scared of the vulnerability, scared of the cold, scared of touch, even mine.  And that’s understandable.  It didn’t help that I freaked out about it.  I screwed up, and that’s on me, so that makes it even more my responsibility to fix it.”

“Tony…”

“No matter what it takes, we’ll work through this, too.  One step at a time.  One touch, one kiss…  Whatever you’re comfortable with.  Whenever you’re ready.  Despite what you think, I can restrain myself from succumbing to your ridiculous wiles.”  Steve smiled at that, dropping his chin a little.  Tony smiled, too.  He let Steve have a moment, let him breathe, let him process what he was feeling.  When Steve finally looked up again, Tony was still tenderly smiling.  “If he took your peace of mind, we’ll get it back.  I promise.  Believe me.”

Steve searched his eyes again, and this time it was much easier for him to find his faith.  “Okay.”

“Okay.  Here, lay down.”

Steve nodded.  Tony pulled the quilt and flat sheet back, guiding Steve to lay down like he had when Steve had been too ill and weak to do it himself.  Steve didn’t need it now, but it felt good for both of them.  Once he was lying against the pillows, calm and blinking wearily at the moonlight streaming in through the windows, Tony headed out to the living room of their suite.  Just for a second he lingered, breathing deeply, battling shock and lingering pain and so much relief.  Then he touched the panel near the wall.  “JARVIS?”

“Sir?”

“Schedule someone to come take care of the window Steve broke first thing tomorrow.  I’ll keep him away from there until it’s repaired.  Have breakfast delivered to our suite.”

“Certainly.”

“And check in with the others, if you don’t mind.  Let them know we’re okay.  Everything’s okay now.”

“It is, sir.  You were right.  There was closure to be had.”

Tony smiled softly.  “Yeah.  I’m going to bed.  Keep an eye on things?”

“Of course.”

The thought of having a gaping hole in the mansion with that broken window didn’t sit entirely well, but it was just residual nerves and lingering jitteriness.  It was fine.  Ty was dead, and JARVIS would shield them from everything else.

Comforted, Tony padded back to their room.  He closed the door softly behind him again.  Steve’s eyes were closed, but he blinked them open when he heard the sound.  He stared at Tony for a second, and for that second, Tony couldn’t read him again.  Then his gaze filled with nothing but earnest hope.  “Please come?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” Tony replied, and he crossed the distance to the bed quickly.  He climbed in on his side and settled the blankets around him before sidling up close to Steve.  He made to get his arms around him.

But Steve rolled over before he fully could.  “Can I…  Can I hold you tonight?  Please?”

Tony grinned, heart soaring.  “You think you have to ask?  God, Rogers.  _Yes._ ”  Steve gasped what was clearly a happy sob.  “Big spoon away.”

It was incredible, how his body fit against Steve’s, how his heart basked in Steve’s embrace the second Steve’s arms encircled him.  Incredible and amazing and so right.  All the nights he’d longed for this, for this simple, mundane, easy pleasure.  All those painful moments he’d ached for it, that his senses had screamed for it.  Now he had it back.  It was like coming home in the best way.  It was like being _whole._

Tony snuggled back into Steve’s chest and lifted their hands where they’d woven together over his chest to kiss Steve’s knuckles.  He felt Steve’s lips, light and tentative, press into the back of his neck. “Tony, I…  I love you,” Steve whispered.  He gave another small sob, clutching Tony tighter.  “I love you so much!”

“Shhh, darling.  I know that.  Never doubted for a second.”  Tony grinned through his tears.  “And I love you, too.”

* * *

The next day, Tony woke to the sunrise.  It was that period of early morning, so early that it could arguably be the night before.  The first rays of golden illumination were just barely peeking over the horizon far across the spread of the ocean.  The black of night was shifting to gray, lightening moment by moment, but the world hadn’t yet woken.  The trees were still.  The birds were quiet.  Even the sea seemed motionless, waiting patiently for the day to begin.

For a while Tony lay there, watching the sun light the world, fuzzy with a deep and dreamless sleep.  He was a bit between awareness and slumber, but as he breathed and blinked, his senses slowly became more alert.  What had woken him?  He couldn’t figure it out at first.  This was…  This was their bedroom in their master suite in the Florida Keys.  They’d gone there so Steve could recover in peace.  And last night, they’d found out Ty was truly dead.  Last night, Steve had finally gotten angry, finally broken apart, finally cried over what had happened to him.

Last night, they’d finally started on the path to healing, and not only Steve’s body, but his heart.  His soul.  Their love.  Last night, they’d finally taken the much needed first step.

And Steve was still there now, arms around Tony, breathing slowly and evenly into his neck.  Tony had rolled onto his back sometime during the night, but Steve was still curled around him, arm across his stomach, other arm on the pillow above his head, legs tangled up with his.  Tony looked down, straining his eyes just a bit to see Steve’s face.  Steve was peaceful, long lashes fluttering ever so slightly against his skin as he dreamed.  They were good dreams.  Tony just knew it, could see it in the way Steve’s lips were curled in just a bit of a smile, the way he was so sweetly lax, the way he was holding onto Tony just a bit possessively.  It felt good to see.  It felt right.

That was what had woken him.  This feeling of everything being _right_.  Nothing was wrong.  _Nothing._ There was no danger, no threat, no demons creeping in the fading shadows of night.  No nightmare to batter him or paranoia to control him or terror to drive him insane, moment by moment.  This was a morning just like any other they’d had before Steve had been kidnapped.  Quiet and calm, the two of them alone in their bed, ensconced in each other’s arms.  This was peace.  Home.  Love.  And maybe it wasn’t entirely as it had been before yet – _as it should and would be again_ – but they’d get there.  Tony believed in that.  One step at a time, they’d get everything back that they’d lost.  It was just as he’d promised before.  They could get everything back.  In the end, they could.

And in the end, Ty had nothing.

Tony had dreamed horrors, monsters in the night invading.  Touching and torturing.  Tormenting him.  But that was then, and this was now, and now it was all over.  This was a new day, and everything was getting better, just like he promised.  He smiled.  “Did you really think we’d let you win?” he whispered before snuggling into the safety of Steve’s arms and falling back to sleep.

There was no answer, of course.  That was the whole point behind having the last word.


	20. Chapter 20

_Six months later_

“Avengers, look alive!  We have incoming!”

The sound of Steve’s voice on the comm link was like music to Tony’s ears.  The tone of his words, authoritative and commanding and confident…  The timbre and cadence was familiar and true.  God, it was so perfect.  So right.  It almost made Tony shiver in his armor. 

It definitely made him slow to react.  “Iron Man, did you hear me?” Steve demanded shortly.  “Pay attention!”

Tony snapped out of his haze, trying (unsuccessfully) to wipe the humongous smile off his face.  “Right, Cap.  My bad,” he said, and he fired the thrusters in Iron Man’s boots and gauntlets to zoom down from hovering on high and into the battle on the streets.  Today had the team battling a barrage of robotic… animals?  Apparently, the machines were part of some sort of mechanical sentinel project made to emulate local wildlife for discreet operation.  Developed by one of Stark Industries’ competitors, the brood of deer, wolf, hawk, bear, and other prototypes had gone haywire earlier that day and broken free of their facilities.  With Tony’s help, Stark Industries’ R&D and SHIELD were already working on trying to patch the glitch that had resulted in today’s fun and games.  They were on track to deploy it within the next ten minutes.  In the meantime, it was up to the Avengers to keep the robot zoo contained to the area around the company’s labs in San Francisco.

Tony twisted as he flew into a swarm of avian machines, the ones that looked like hawks if hawks were equipped with missiles and lasers and shard-like knives that shot from ports in their metallic wings.  It was crazy as hell.  Just another day in the world of super-heroing.  The salvo of daggers uselessly collided against Iron Man, and Tony unleashed a stream of repulsor blasts in return, shooting the monstrous drones out of the sky.  _In terms of weird shit, this is up there._   He flew around, taunting, getting them to target him.  “Coming down with friends in tow!”

“We’re ready!  Bring ’em!”

Below him, Black Widow and Hawkeye were back to back, flawlessly fighting together.  Clint’s bow sang, his arrows flying in a deadly wink toward the flying horde as it got closer.  Natasha had a gun in either hand, her auburn hair fiery in the midday sun despite the smoke wafting through the air.  She was shooting at a machine running around them, this one a fairly slender and graceful quadruped complete with metallic antlers.  At least, it would be graceful were it not for its set of laser eyes.  Tony dropped down in front of her with a thud that shook the road, blocking the blast and allowing her to make her shots.  Thankfully, for being some sort of security prototypes, these things weren’t bulletproof.

Once the deer was a smoldering carcass of dented metal, Natasha turned to regard him.  She was smirking and so deviously perceptive.  “You’re going all gooey whenever he so much as barks an order at us.”  She grinned.  “So sweet, Stark.”

“Kinda makes me want to barf in my mouth a little,” Clint remarked with a sly curl to his lips.  He darted a glance at Tony.  They stood side by side, rapidly picking off the flying machines with arrows and repulsor shots and missiles.  “Just a little.”

“What?” Tony said, thankful his helmet was hiding his blush.  “I’m as cool as a cucumber.  That’s what they say, right?”  His voice was pretty nonchalant and seemingly aloof, so only JARVIS would know just how much his eyes were welling and how hot his cheeks were.  Just how much his heart was racing with happiness and relief and so much pride.  And JARVIS would never–

“If a cucumber could somehow resemble a flushing, teary-eyed, infatuated forty-six year-old man, then your analogy would be appropriate,” JARVIS smartly declared over the comm link.

“Haha,” Clint said, smoothly whirling and fitting another arrow to his bowstring.  The projectile shot forth, striking another of the deer-like machines rampaging on the streets that were already meticulously evacuated by Captain America.  “Betrayed.”

Tony launched a series of tiny missiles from his shoulder compartments at the dwindling flock of bird bots overhead while blasting some sort of feral, metal wolf thing trying to charge his teammates.  Those incoming machines about which Steve had warned were now arriving in full force.  “JARVIS, you a-hole,” he muttered.

“I do aim to please, sir,” the AI smugly answered.

“Can we keep comms clear of chatter?” Steve said tightly.  “And I’m on here, you know.  I can hear what you’re saying about Tony and me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Cap!” Clint said smartly, rolling away from a charging bot and turning to jab his bow into it.  Mid-thrust he thumbed the special controls on the arc of it, and it transformed into a spear of sorts, on that was electrified.  The machine he struck sizzled as it was zapped.  “I can embarrass both of you in one fell swoop.  Kill two birds with one stone?  I have good aim, or so I’ve been told!”

That made Thor laugh over comms.  His deep guffaw actually heralded his approach, and he literally thundered to the ground a few feet from them.  Mjölnir was a streak of silver as he swung it, striking the belly of some sort of bear-like machine.  The thing roared, swiping at him, but it was like a pillow trying to attack, well, a demigod.  Thor raised his hammer high, summoning down a thick bolt of lightning from the sky, and hit again.  Electricity crackled over the smooth metallic plates of the beast.  The bear made some mixture of a mechanical whine and a very loud animalistic scream before tipping over.  “Ah, come now, Steve!  It is an excellent day!” Thor declared as he whirled to regard his teammates, the mane of his blond hair flying around him.  “One that merits a little frivolity.  And this is truly good sport.  Fun and easy.  An ample opportunity to show the world that we are again whole.”

“Last I checked,” came Fury’s slightly reprimanding tone, “this was about stopping a horde of zoomorphic killer robots, not a goddamn photo-op.”

“Wow, big words, Fury.  And you can’t deny this is great PR,” Tony remarked in a snarky tone.  He turned a bit, twisting his rear toward where the news helicopters were aloft and filming the battle.  “Gotta show ’em my good side!”

Thor laughed heartily, whooping with his hammer before charging into the fray around them.  “I am reminded of hunting on Asgard,” he declared, smashing Mjölnir into another bear-like machine.  When he yanked the hammer free and swung back, he took out a wolf making to jump on him.  The remainder of the flying robots converged on him, pecking and shooting and slicing like a scene out of _The Birds,_ but they were essentially gnats buzzing around for how easily Thor swatted them.  He seemed almost gleeful, excited and euphoric.  “Those were high times, filled with camaraderie and purpose!  We once struck down this massive bilgesnipe and–”

“Incoming!” Clint cried out, ducking as the razor-sharp claws of another hawk careened toward him.  He barely avoided the strike, skidding to the left and aiming at it quickly.  A second later a slew of arrows was sticking out of the robot’s plating, and a second after that the explosives inside their heads went off.  The detonation dropped the beast out of the sky.  “Suck it!”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him.  Behind them another wolf charged, the lasers inside his open jaw powering up.  She didn’t even turn to aim properly, tossing a grenade over her shoulder.  It landed right inside the robot’s gaping maw.  Almost instantaneously, a blast of fire and smoke rushed over the Avengers.  “Easy, yes.  Fun, no,” she griped.  “I would think real hunting presents more of a challenge.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fury snapped, but even his tone was lighter and more teasing than Tony had ever heard before.  “Next time I’ll have the lab jack their danger level up to eleven before accidentally unleashing them.”

Tony laughed.  Thanks to JARVIS, he was tracking the remainder of the swarm of birds overhead with ease despite how quickly and chaotically they were moving.  As he finished them off, Clint came to stand beside him again, sighting down his bow with another arrow nocked.  “Did he just make a reference to _This Is Spinal Tap?_ ” the archer asked incredulously.

“I am capable of it, Agent Barton,” Fury chided in Tony’s ear.  JARVIS was maintaining a video call with the SHIELD Director, so his image was in the lower right corner of the HUD.  The man’s eye was filled with genuine appreciation and relief.  “And today does seem like a good day.”

_A really good day._

“Avengers,” Steve cried, “more incoming!”

With that warning, the buildings around them violently shook.  Windows cracked, glass spilling down onto the street and the team.  Behind them, a storefront exploded.  Tony darted in front of Clint and Natasha, taking the brunt of the blast with armor.  When the debris settled and the smoke cleared, an outrageously huge mechanical creature stood there.  It was at least as tall as an elephant, maybe as wide as two.  It even looked like an elephant with tusks of some sort that were glowing as the thing reared and shook its head at them in a show of aggression and territorialism.

“Okay, someone needs to teach these dudes basic zoology,” Tony quipped as he stared down the threat.  JARVIS was rapidly scanning it, searching for weak spots and vulnerabilities in the thick plating around its massive limbs and trunk.  “Suddenly we’re in the Sahara?  We’ve switched biomes completely.  Not cool.”

The beast made to charge them, eyes glowing and tusks sharp and threatening and just generally unbelievable.  Thor ran at it, cape fluttering and hammer held high, but before he could attack, another roar shook the city, this one far more recognizable.  Tony watched in satisfaction as the Hulk jumped clear across the block from one of the taller buildings.  He was a blur of green as he collided with the machine, pulverizing the side of it and knocking it down.  “To Hel’s depths with you, Banner!” Thor exclaimed in frustration.  “This one is mine!”  He jumped into the battle, going at smashing the elephant-thing with abandon.

Tony watched with a stupid smile on his face.  “Have at it, guys.”

With this huge fight before them, the one around them actually lulled for a second.  Natasha was right beside Tony, reloading her guns as she surveyed the mounting wreckage for machines that were still active.  She switched off her comms.  “You have an eye on him?” she softly asked, darting her eyes his way.

Tony shut off his comms, too.  This was a conversation Steve didn’t need to hear.  “Of course.”  He glanced at the other corner of the HUD where he was actively tracking the location of Steve’s combat suit and his vitals.   Maybe this, too, was a tad overprotective and just a little paranoid, but Steve had agreed to it when he’d first tentatively donned Captain America’s uniform weeks ago.  Sometimes a touch of obsession was warranted.  It was a huge comfort for him that, should something happen, Tony would know instantly.  No one would be able to kidnap or hurt him again without the Avengers being alerted.  It was a _huge_ comfort to Tony, too (he could have melted in relief when Steve had agreed to his security measures because he’d honestly expected a fight concerning Steve’s independence and capacity to take “necessary” risks in battle and so forth).  Furthermore, it was good peace of mind for the rest of the team.

Natasha especially.  This was the first mission Steve had done in the public eye, so to speak, since his abduction.  It had been more than six months since Tony had rescued him from Ty’s clutches.  Half a year since Steve had fought for his life after having the serum all but drained from his body.  Half a year since Ty’s death, since Steve had slowly begun to recover with love and support from Tony and the team.  It didn’t seem real sometimes, just how much things had changed.  At the time, _this_ seemed unobtainable, a goal so distant that it was impossible to even picture what it’d be like to back out there fighting as a team.

Now they were.  Now Steve was _here,_ like he’d never been gone.  And, again, this wasn’t exactly the first time.  He’d done some operations for SHIELD over the last couple months, run point on a few tactical missions.  They’d been simple ones with minimal threat and a great deal of backup behind him (and Tony watching from the Triskelion alongside Fury and Hill the whole time).  Physically Steve was more than ready.  He had been for months.  Emotionally?  That was tougher.  At the therapists’ suggestions, he was still easing back into his life as Captain America.  There were lingering fears, lingering flashbacks.  It was understandable.  Steve had been kidnapped on a mission.  The possibility of that happening again, however unlikely, was hard to shake off.  The first time the call had come in a couple weeks back for the team to be deployed, Steve hadn’t made it out the door, stricken by the worst panic attack he’d had in months.  Thankfully, the others had been able to handle the situation, so Tony had stayed and held him through it.  Afterward it had seemed for a bit like Steve would back off from ever trying to lead the team again.  No one blamed him, and he didn’t owe anyone a thing, so extending his leave or quitting altogether were entirely viable options (as Tony kept telling him).

Steve was too stubborn to quit.  No matter how hard it had been, he’d taken strength from Tony’s unwavering faith in him.  _Keep fighting.  Stand up.  Don’t let him win._ Like so many aspects of his recovery, every step forward was hard-fought, and every victory was hard-won.

That was why today was a _tremendous_ moment.  The Avengers were assembled as a whole for the first time after so long, and Steve was leading them like he always used to, supported through strength and courage from Tony before the fight, from _everyone_ with friendly hugs and knowing smiles and easy words.  So far things had been going exceptionally well.

So there was no need to worry.  But Natasha, like Tony himself, like all of them, always would.  Tony explained more to appease her.  “He’s finishing up the evacuation detail.  Doing his thing.”  Assigning Steve to protect and escort civilians out of harm’s way rather than engage in the chaotic battle seemed a natural choice on his first mission back with the team.  Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t objected.  “He’s good.”

Natasha pressed her lips together, like hearing that wasn’t quite enough to allay her fears.  Tony understood all too well.  She didn’t press it, partly because the battle picked up again and they had to get back in the game, but mostly because Steve’s voice broke over the comm link again.  “Status?”

Tony switched his mic on, going airborne to get a better view of the situation.  “Uh, half the horde’s destroyed.  Hulk and Thor are really going to town now.  In short, it looks like we’re winning.”

Steve was all business.  He always was on the field, even when the fight was going their way (in a huge way, no less).  “What’s the ETA on that deliverable to neutralize their AI?”

Fury was quick to respond.  “Three minutes.  The techs are accessing their network right now.  Are all the civilians safe?”

“Clear.”

“Then contain and maintain, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.  You hear that, guys?  Hold your positions until the bots shut down!”

Tony grinned and landed in the city again, hunting some errant quadruped machines that seemed like they were trying to escape.  “On it!”

Three minutes went by like nothing at all.  At Steve’s command, Tony shot down the last few avian machines that were close to breaching the edges of the battle zone and threatening the rest of the city.  Other than that, it was a bunch of fighting together, smashing, tearing, crushing, and ripping machines apart.  That was a particular specialty of the Hulk, and their resident monster went at it with abandon.  To his credit, Thor was keeping up, almost jovial about the metal carnage.  By the time they were thirty seconds out, there was hardly a reason for the techs to disable the animal horde.  More than 90% of it was strewn about the streets in a Hulk-sized mess.

Tony, Clint, and Natasha were basically standing off to the side and watching their two teammates have a field day.  Natasha shook her head.  “Ever feel a little superfluous?”

“Ah, Nat, come on,” Clint chided.  He was leaning on his bow.  “They’re having fun.  No need to poo-poo it.”  She glared at him out of the corner of her eye.  Clint shrugged.  “Hey, it’s not every day we can just hang around and watch the mayhem.  This is cool, if you ask me.  Kinda like a vacation.”  The archer turned to Tony.  “Speaking of, how was yours?”

Tony never got a chance to answer.  Behind them, there was a horrific crack.  Tony whirled, but he wasn’t fast enough to prevent something from hitting him.  Natasha and Clint scattered, Natasha screaming his name, but he could hardly hear because he was hitting the road hard, hard enough to shatter the surface beneath him and shove him a solid six feet through the asphalt.  Panic rushed over him, and he tried in vain to get his arms free from where a humongous wolf-like machine had him pinned.  The thing was shocking his suit, biting at it, clawing and trying to rip the armor away.  Warnings flashed all over the HUD about damage, and JARVIS was yelling.  Natasha was still yelling, too.  Tony shut his eyes, wincing at the horrific sight of the gaping jaws biting at his helmet.

But then there was a blue blur, and the machine was knocked from his chest.  _Steve._   Tony rolled over just in time to see Steve tackle the mechanic animal, driving it off Tony with a cry.  Steve was fast, powerful, ramming his shield into the thing’s side with a loud _crunch._   It shrieked an inorganic screech, trying to regain its balance and attack.

There was no use.  Tony was on his feet, firing the remainder of his arsenal at the machine as it charged Steve.  The missiles struck, bursting against plating, but his repulsor blasts drove the animal back.  Effortlessly he aimed around Steve as his husband fought, _danced_ with so much grace and speed and strength.  The sun glinted off his shield every time he hit with it.  He was using it as a weapon as well as to block, throwing all his considerable might behind it, gritting his teeth as the thing clawed at him.  The whine of steel on vibranium was shrill.  As strong as these things might be, they were no match for the strongest metal on Earth.

And this thing was no match for Captain America, let alone Captain America and Iron Man.  It was easily bigger than both of them combined, but they weren’t daunted.  Tony launched himself into the fight, and they worked flawlessly together to bring the machine down.  A second or two later, it was on the ground, eyes dark, plating broken to expose the skeletal structure and wiring inside, still and very much inoperable.

The two of them stood over it.  Steve kicked it with his boot, shaking his head.  “Nick,” he said into his comm link, “ready on that fix?”

“We are.”

Tony was still reeling a bit, not so much with the suddenness of the attack but from having Steve with him, _beside him_ , just as he always had been.  Just as he belonged.  Because of that, though, he missed another machine launch itself at them from the ruins of the building from where the big one had come.  This model was much smaller, and Steve whirled, throwing his shield.  The edge of it drove right into the creature’s head, shattering its laser eyes as they’d been powering up.  The thing collapsed into the wreckage before it could even get close.  Steve nodded to Tony.  “Shut ’em down.”

Almost instantly and without any fanfare, the few remaining robots went limp and clattered to the street.  The Hulk grunted and then whined, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.  Thor laughed, clasping the beast on the back.  “We are victorious!”

Tony grinned, deactivating his helmet and pulling it off and feeling high and giddy with just how well this had gone.  That was, until he caught sight of Steve giving him the infamous Captain America frown of disapproval.  “What?” he said.

“Is there any particular reason you guys were standing around instead of, I don’t know, _participating_ in the battle?” Steve asked, eyeing the three of them critically.

Clint went stiff, like a cadet at a review (or what Tony imagined a cadet at a review would look like – it wasn’t like he actually knew).  It was all fake, though.  He was struggling hard not to laugh.  “Won’t happen again, sir!”

Natasha wasn’t playing along with his stupidity.  “Sorry, Cap.  We were–”

“Sloppy?” Steve finished.  She actually winced a little.  Only Captain America could make Black Widow ashamed.  “Careless?  And horsing around on comms after I told you not to.  I don’t remember the battle channel being a random stream of consciousness.”

“Back for all of an hour and he’s already riding our asses again,” Clint declared.  He was trying to sound annoyed, or at least amused, but mostly he just seemed relieved.  He gave up the parade-rest nonsense and came over to punch Steve in his bicep.  “Welcome back, Cap.”  Steve smiled to that.  “And seriously?  Random stream of consciousness?  Dude, did you forget who you married?”

“No.”  Steve turned to Tony as Clint headed off to join Thor where he was helping Bruce recover after his transformation.  “I didn’t forget.”

The sound of the SHIELD teams coming from the perimeter was loud, as were the rotors of the news choppers and the rumble of approaching trucks, but it all pretty much fell away.  Tony winced apologetically.  “Uh…  My hero?”

Steve flexed the fingers of this left glove, activating the new electromagnetic retrieval system Tony had finally installed in his suit.  His shield came flying to his arm in a gleaming arc.  He slid it to his back, glancing around at the people returning to the scene and all the wreckage.  “You know,” he said after a beat, “the last time I saved your ass you at least gave me a kiss.”

It took Tony a second to remember the last time.  When he did, he couldn’t help but smile.  That day Ty had come to taunt him before they’d even known what trials laid ahead.  Steve’s fake call for the Avengers to assemble that gave Tony an excuse to cut that bullshit meeting short.  _My hero._ Whatever smidge of worry Tony had had about upsetting Steve disappeared.  The corner of Steve’s lips turned into a smirk that made Tony’s belly flip, and he cocked an eyebrow.  That was pretty bold for Steve, particularly considering his previous dislike of public attention had only gotten worse now.  But the look on his face was nothing but inviting and flirtatious.  _God, how?  How am I this lucky?_   Ty had been so wrong about so many things, but one thing he’d gotten _exactly_ right, and Tony was reminded more and more every day.

It really, _really_ was something that Captain America loved him.

So without further ado, with the eyes of the world watching, he dropped his helmet in the debris, reached over, and yanked Steve by the straps on his uniform into a passionate kiss that tasted pure and sweet.  Steve wrapped him in his arms, hugging him through Iron Man, and, God, Tony wanted everyone to see.  He wanted everyone to know.  He was Steve’s, and Steve was his, and they were together again.  Captain America was back, and the Avengers were whole, and they were undefeatable.  Like that moment at the Stark Expo years ago, when the crowd had cheered and cheered for them as they’d kissed on stage in a sweet demonstration of just how amazing their relationship was…  _Victorious._

Thor was right.  There was no better word for it than that.

* * *

Of course, kissing Captain America like that on his first mission back as an Avenger tended to make some waves.

By the time the Avengers returned to New York, the Tower was swamped with the press.  They were down in the lobby, a practical swarm awaiting a post-battle statement of some sort.  That typically had been the standard before Steve’s kidnapping.  After the fight was over, the team (usually directed and handled by SHIELD or Stark Industries) would make an appearance and answer a few questions.  For obvious reasons, today the expectations (and excitement and adulation and all that) were much higher.  JARVIS explained that Happy and his guys had the circus under control as the team exited the quinjet up on the landing pad.

And Pepper and Rhodey were there waiting.  Pepper was smiling but shaking her head in light admonishment as Steve and Tony walked over.  “You two ever heard of subtlety?”

Clint strolled by them and rolled his eyes.  “Again?  Really? You _really_ have to ask that.”  He stopped to shake Rhodey’s hand.  “Hey, man.”

“Just dropping by,” Rhodey said with a smile.  “Checking in.”  In other words, making sure today went well.  It wasn’t all that subtle.  “Great job out there, Cap.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, reddening a little.  “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for this.”

“Eh, it’s cool.  I was in the neighborhood.  Besides, the Department of Defense would like a run-down on what happened.”

Pepper ignored them all lifted up the tablet she was carrying to show Tony.  “That little make-out session?  It’s trending faster than anything we released today.”

“Why?  What’s today…  Oh.”  Sure enough, the analytics on the screen were depicting his kiss with Steve and Steve’s return to the battlefield generating a shit ton of buzz on social media.  It was far and away more popular than the marketing announcements Stark Industries had made earlier that day about the expansions to Project Greenlight.  Pepper had spoken in front of the media down in the lobby right as the call had come in for the Avengers to assemble, so Tony hadn’t even watched her outline his intentions to bring lost-cost, green energy to every household across the United States in the next three years.  It wasn’t a sexy proposal by any means, and, despite the resounding success of the first arc reactors built as part of the project’s initial phase, the company had hit serious obstructionism and red tape from their energy competitors and the government alike.  In fact, it was going to cost a boatload of money to get it off the ground, even with the infrastructure already well on its way to being in place.

But it was worth it.  It was another thing Tony was doing to be the good man Steve had married, in whom Steve believed.  Another accomplishment he was proud to add to his legacy.

Tony grinned sheepishly, marveling at seeing how a simple few second clip of him snogging with Steve on a street covered in debris with the rest of the team watching and smiling and laughing in the background had trounced her likely meticulously planned media blitz.  “Heh.  Whoops.  Our bad?”

“Not like world crises operate on a polite timetable,” Natasha declared with a grin as she walked by, checking her guns as she did.  She was doing a very poor job of hiding just how happy she was.

So was Pepper.  Her cross expression was fake, through and through.  She switched off her tablet and shoved it Tony so she could hug Steve.  “Well, it guess it’s alright.  This is kinda important too.”

Again Steve flushed.  He had been burning pretty brightly red since news of the kiss proliferating the internet had reached them (via Fury, who’d been pretty pissed).  Steve had taken off his helmet in the jet, and his blond hair, now even a little longer than it had been before his abduction, was still sticking up all over in spikes.  He’d been… quiet.  Pensive.  Not upset at all, but just… peaceful (which had been a good thing as the team had stayed close and double-checked he was okay about a million times.  And that had been something, to see two hardened master assassins, a mad scientist with touch issues, and a huge thunder god fretting over and coddling a grown-ass man perfectly capable of handling himself).  Now he smiled.  “Not that important,” he commented, glancing at Rhodey and Tony, trying to downplay the moment because he was a self-deprecating moron.  He had always been that way to some extent, but in recent weeks, as he’d _really_ come back into his own?  He’d brushed aside any and all special attention, accolades, and fanfare.  Tony knew it made him uncomfortable, but he could weather it this time because he _should_ be proud of what he’d done.  Of how far he’d come.

Of just how much he’d fought back against what Ty had done to him.

Pepper kissed his cheek and hung on tight.  “Maybe if we averaged your humility with Tony’s…” she started, grinning widely.  Tony glared.  “ _Opposite_ of humility, we’d have a normal person.”

Steve couldn’t help a smile at that, darting a smart glance at Tony.  Tony rolled his eyes, but he still couldn’t get the stupid grin off his lips.  Rhodey chuckled, folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head.  “Opposite of humility.  What an understatement.”

“Hey!” Tony groused.  “You guys are being jerks.”  He didn’t care.  Not really.  They could tease him to kingdom come.  _Nothing_ was dampening the jovial air of accomplishment today.

Bruce gave him a knowing look as he walked down the ramp, rolling his sleeves back as he did.  “Well, that was a new level of weird.  Robotic animal sentinels that ‘blend’ in with nature,” he said, shaking his head at how stupid that was. 

“It’s like sticking branches on a cell phone tower and calling it a tree,” Clint added.  “Never understood that.  Why bother?”

“Yeah, well, the DoD wants info,” Rhodey said.  “If you can spare the time, Tony.  And Bruce.  I’m sure they’d like to get their hands on some of the tech.”

Bruce nodded.  “So stupid.  It’s an invention not even worth stealing.”  He grinned teasingly at Tony.  This was how far they’d come.  They could _joke_ about what had happened.  If that wasn’t progress, Tony didn’t know what was.  “By the way, I talked to Galloway yesterday and he has some new specs he’d like to show you.”

Even that, even working on the Chameleon polymer as he’d promised Galloway he’d do as an investor, didn’t bother him anymore.  Galloway himself had been horrified to learn the role his design had played in staging Captain America’s death, and he’d apologized endlessly, practically groveling before Tony for forgiveness for crimes that were not at all his fault.  The poor guy had thought for certain he’d lose his funding.  Tony hadn’t yanked it, though he’d kept his distance at first.  It was a bit of a sore spot, particularly with Steve still recovering.  Now, months and months after the worst parts of the nightmare had ended, he felt good enough about it all to be involved again.

But not today.  He nodded, brushing that aside a little.  “Sure.  Later.  And later for the animal talk with the government, Rhodey.  Gotta go deal with the news folks.”

Bruce opened his mouth, likely to joke that he hadn’t meant right now of course, but Steve was already talking.  “Go ahead and do whatever you need to, Tony.  I can handle the press.”

Everyone stopped and stared, especially Tony.  It was with good reason.  Even though Steve had been more and more successful returning to everyday activities, it had been a struggle at times to get him to go out and leave the security of the Tower.  Less and less often that was so, but his aversion to crowds and cameras continued to plague him even when Tony had finally coaxed him into short outings like trips to the Met (Tony had veritably paid to shut the place down the first time they’d gone) and Central Park.  In the last couple months, Steve had been feeling more comfortable, confident enough to resume jogging around the city with Thor, eating out at all of Clint’s favorite places, and joining Natasha shopping once or twice.

Doing this, though?  “You sure?” Tony asked, worried this might be a little much for one day.

Steve held his gaze firmly.  He’d shaved his beard last week when they’d been in Europe.  Well, Tony had shaved it for him.  There’d been nothing particularly meaningful about it.  Tony had woken up to find Steve fresh from the shower in the ridiculously swanky bathroom in Paris, towel around his waist and face lathered up and razor at the ready near his cheek.  Of course, faced with that, with Steve recently debauched and all warm-skinned and fresh from his shower, Tony had sat him down and shaved his face for him with his straight razor, working carefully and meticulously until every speck of Steve’s chin and jaw was smooth.  He might have spent a few seconds (minutes) caressing his cheeks afterward, staring into the depths of his eyes and losing himself as Steve stared, too.  His body had ached with want and his heart had pounded with joy.  He’d been so fucking _thrilled_ to be getting the man he loved back, moment by moment and piece by piece.

Yeah, he might have done that.

“I think I can handle it,” Steve said.  This from the man who’d had a panic attack about standing in front of the press six months ago.  And there wasn’t any doubt there.  No anger or fear or desperation to prove himself like there had been last time.  There was just _Steve_ , timid maybe, but Steve with confidence and purpose and power all his own that had nothing to do with the serum.  “I’m ready.”

Thor suddenly rushed the distance between the rear ramp of the jet and their little group in record time, laughing deeply as he swept a very surprised Steve into his arms and lifted him.  Steve gasped, struggled a second, but then gave up because there was no way he was breaking out of Thor’s hold.  “This truly is a good day!” Thor announced with a grin when he finally set his captain down.  He grasped Steve’s shoulders.  “You have bested your demons.”

Another blush.  “Guys, come on.  You don’t have to keep making a big deal out of–”

“Yeah, we do,” Clint argued, hugging Steve too.  “You have no idea how much we do.  This…  It finally feels like the end.”

Bruce shook his head, smiling and touching Steve’s arm.  “Come on.  A whole _year_ went by without you, Steve.  It…  It was…  Well, devastating wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration, would it?”

“Nope,” Clint said, punching Steve in the bicep again.  “Devastating works.  Taking care of your crazy-ass husband alone was utterly hellish.”  He winked at Tony, nothing but snark in his expression.

“Amen to that,” Rhodey added, and his tone was light, but there was pain there, too. 

“And there were no Avengers without you,” Thor said, “at least, nothing of what we were.  Nothing worthy of you.  The heart of our team, of our _family_ , had simply stopped beating.  That was no one’s fault, no one’s save the monster who tricked us into believing you had perished.”  Steve’s smile saddened but not with distress.  It was more rueful than anything else.  Thor slung his arm over his shoulders.  “Still, it was a torture not one of us will soon forget, and it reminded us that the time we have together, however fleeting, should not be taken for granted.  We are happiest, _strongest_ , at your side.  So today?  With you overcoming your traumas to lead us in battle?  To speak to the people as you always did?  Yes, it seems mundane, but it is not.  It is most definitely not.”

Steve’s eyes softened at that, and he nodded, like he was accepting just how important he was.  Tony watched the emotions in his eyes, the gratitude and love and appreciation.  Natasha grinned as she stepped up to him, reached up to cradle his face, and kiss his cheek.  “Today…  I finally know I can put it to rest.”

“Nat, I’ve told you over and over again that it wasn’t your fault,” Steve said, and he had.  Tony had heard it far beyond those first few days when Steve had come home from the hospital.

She tipped her head.  “Well, sometimes you have to see it to believe it,” she said slyly, darting a knowing look to Tony.  Her little grin had turned into a huge smile.

Steve nodded, pulling away from Thor to hug her.  The team stood around them, not so subtly protective, and Steve caught Tony’s gaze where he watched from back.  Tony grinned, proud as hell and not at all afraid to show it.  Steve grinned, too.  He was proud of himself.  Tony could see that in his eyes just as sure as anything.

Natasha leaned back after a moment.  Clint clasped her on her shoulder.  If she was wiping away a touch of wetness from her eyes, no one commented.  “Alright, Rogers.  Let’s do this.”

Steve shook his head.  “You don’t have to.  You can go clean up–”

“And miss you get up in front of the world and tell ’em you’re back and ready to kick ass?”  Clint shook his head and pushed Steve into walking.  “Wouldn’t miss it, Cap.”

The four of them, Clint and Natasha flanking Steve and Thor right behind them, headed inside the Tower to go down to the lobby and meet the press.  Bruce stood at Tony’s side a second, glancing at him and Rhodey.  “Think it’ll be okay?” he asked, just a hint of worry in his voice.

It was Bruce, so of course he had doubts.  Doubts were his bread and butter.  Not Tony, though.  Not today, and not ever again.  “Yep.”  Tony wrapped his arms around them both.  “It’ll be fine.”

Bruce nodded, shaking himself free of Tony’s grasp and his concerns with an embarrassed smile.  “Well, I’ll meet you guys in my lab in a little while then?  We can go over what the government wants and then talk about Galloway’s specs.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll come with you, Bruce,” Rhodey said, also pulling away from Tony.  “I’m starving.  What do you say to pizza?”

“Extra mushrooms and you’ll be my new best friend.”

“Hey!” Tony called after them.  “That’s cheating on me, by the way!  Both of you!”  Rhodey turned and blew Tony a kiss before they headed into the Tower.

Then Tony and Pepper were alone.  The sun was setting, so the sky was golden, and the city seemed very peaceful below them.  The evening was warm with spring, the air fresh and comfortable as Tony took a deep breath.  Pepper was tapping at her tablet.  She shook her head, the corner of her mouth turned upward.  “You two do take a nice picture,” she commented, turning the tablet a bit so Tony could see.

There was the image of he and Steve from earlier, Steve’s arms around him, Tony’s gloves gripping Steve’s shoulders by the straps as their mouths met in a kiss that was deep and passionate and probably bordering on inappropriate.  The best kind, actually.  And a professional photographer couldn’t have staged the shot any better, with the smoke from the battle lifting the sun bright on Steve’s iconic shield and the red and gold plating of Iron Man.  Attached to the photo were numerous tags on social media, and all of them were alive with discussion.  _#CapIsBack.  #AvengersAssembled.  #IMSavesCap.  #ThankyouIM!.  #IMBelieves._

“I like that one the best,” Tony commented, pointing at that last tag and trying to seem cool and glib to hide how deeply it struck him.  He knew that was one of the tags that had heavily circulated Twitter and the like when he’d been searching for Steve.  At the time it had made him feel sick, a set of words that seemed to represent the crushing weight of his obsessions and paranoia.  Now…  “It’s a little on the nose, but it tells the story.”

Pepper saw right through him, of course.  “Yeah, it does.  You never gave up on each other.”

“Nope.”  _Not for a second._

“How did it go, by the way?”

 She was talking about where they’d gone after their vacation.  It hadn’t exactly been on the way home, but they’d flown to San Francisco a couple days ago after leaving Paris.  Steve had wanted to.  Tony shrugged a little.  “It was alright.  He just kinda stood there.  Didn’t say much.”

Pepper’s eyes darkened with a touch of concern.  “He shut down again?”  Steve hadn’t done that, pulled away from those around him entirely, in months.

Tony shook his head firmly.  “No, not at all.  There just wasn’t much to say, I guess.”  He could picture it now, Steve standing in front of the gray headstone where Ty had been buried six months ago (buried alongside his father and mother in this huge plot in a nice cemetery but otherwise without a cent to his name, his biopharmaceuticals empire having been dismantled by the FBI, IRS, and other nations.  Its legacy was utterly tarnished.  Fury had been very true to his word, and Ty’s ex-wives had received not one cent from it all).  It had been a fairly gloomy day, wet and chilly as spring could often be, and Steve had stared at the grave with his hands in his coat pockets and his face inscrutable for quite a while.  Tony hadn’t been able to figure out what he’d been feeling.  Honestly, when Steve had asked to do this, he’d been wary.  Steve had been making a great deal of progress in the last couple months, with returning to SHIELD and everything else, and Tony hadn’t wanted to jeopardize that.  Plus the whole thing brought back eerie and unpleasant memories of him visiting Steve’s grave down in Arlington last fall (which had since been removed, of course, although some of the other monuments to Captain America were still up, the nice statues in DC and Brooklyn and such.  Their inscriptions had been changed to honor Steve as a living legend, about which Tony had no complaints).

At any rate, Steve had been alright in the end.  He’d stared at Ty’s grave, silent and stalwart, and when he’d had his fill of whatever he’d been thinking, he’d turned and walked to Tony where Tony had been standing a little distance away.  Tony had taken his hand out of his pocket and squeezed it.  _“You okay?”_

Steve’s eyes had focused, cleared, and he’d nodded.  _“Yeah.  Thanks for bringing me here.  I just… I felt I had to do this.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ Steve had admitted, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s wedding ring.  _“I feel good about it, though.  Feel better.”_

Tony had kissed him.  _“Then it was worth it.”_

Anything that made Steve feel even one bit better about his captivity was worth it.  Tony sighed.  “He’s alright, Pep.  It’s not completely over.  It may never be.”  That was what Doctor Madson kept telling him.  Madson was really good with Steve, good _for_ Steve.  Steve was still seeing him and other therapists and counselors a few times a week and would be for a while yet.  And that was fine.  Tony was regularly talking to his therapist, too.  It helped.  The road wasn’t always smooth and easy to walk, but here they were.  No more licking their wounds in private.  No more shutting out the people who loved them.  “But every little bit of closure helps.”

“Hence the second honeymoon that wasn’t really a second honeymoon,” Pepper quipped lightly.

Tony smiled.  That was the vacation about which Clint had asked earlier.  As a surprise, Tony had taken Steve to Europe a couple weeks ago for an extended jaunt around France, England, Italy, and Spain.  That was what they’d done on their honeymoon.  It wasn’t like this year was a particularly important anniversary (hell, it wasn’t even their anniversary).  But he’d wanted to do something special for Steve, something extravagant and romantic.  It had taken quite a bit of coaxing and cajoling to get Steve on the private jet without telling him where or why.  Many utterances of the phrase _“just trust me”_ had occurred.

In the end, once Steve had trusted him and settled into it and discovered just what Tony had planned, it had been spectacular.  Private beaches on the French Riviera.  Lavish restaurants.  Exclusive villas reserved in all of Europe’s most beautiful locations.  Steve had been relaxed, utterly at ease for the first time in a long time.  The shadows were gone from his eyes.  He’d laughed, talked incessantly when they’d gone to the Louvre (again, Tony had practically rented the entire museum for a few hours so they could be alone), marveled at the sights in Rome and Venice.  They’d done this before (hence the second honeymoon thing) but Steve had taken it all in with reverence and new appreciation.

And the trip had led to them finally making love again.  This in particular had been a rough spot over the last six months.  Steve had struggled a great deal with the possibility of Ty raping him, even more than he had when they’d been in Florida.  Tony was more and more positive that Ty hadn’t.  What he’d told Steve that night in the Keys was right: Ty would have flaunted it if he’d done it.  But that didn’t mollify Steve or appease his fears because logic didn’t always carry the power it should.  Ty was dead, so they couldn’t ask him.  All of his co-conspirators were in jail, the doctors and soldiers and researchers, and Tony could theoretically investigate what they knew.  However, the thought of going on a crusade to find the truth, interrogating them for information like this…  Tony wasn’t sure that wouldn’t do more harm than good.  Like opening Pandora’s Box.  He didn’t want to risk more evil coming out.  He wasn’t sure he even wanted to confirm the evil they feared.

So he hadn’t mentioned the possibility to Steve.  Steve had surely thought of it on his own, but he hadn’t discussed it, either.  He was probably just as terrified of what they might uncover.  Frankly, Steve’s feelings on the issue had been (and still were to some extent) all over the place.  They had waxed and waned and ranged from being utterly horrified of Tony touching him to being so ashamed of feeling such fear and panic over his husband’s gentle, familiar hands to taking his frustrations out on many a punching bag to being almost aggressively handsy, like he was trying to force himself to get over his issues.  That had really been a problem a month or so ago, when Steve had been almost compulsively getting Tony off every night in bed but basically refusing to let Tony return the favor.  Like sex could be this one-sided thing and he could give and not receive and therefore not have to worry about being touched or being vulnerable.  He’d been desperate about it, fast and demanding, but eventually Tony had stopped him because it wasn’t right and it wasn’t healthy.  That had led to a pretty severe fight, and Tony had ended it by saying he didn’t care if they ever had sex again so long as Steve felt safe and happy.

That was kind of a shit thing to say, though he hadn’t realized it right then.  They couldn’t both be needlessly self-sacrificing yet completely and selfishly controlling on this, with Steve constantly giving Tony pleasure but basically refusing to let Tony do the same for him and Tony assuring him that letting their sex life die was okay when it really wasn’t.  They’d run around and around in miserable circles with it, so many failed attempts to be intimate hurting and aggravating them both so much, so Tony had decided to break the cycle.

Hence the trip.  One night in Paris, Steve had sat before the fireplace in the posh living room of their suite, sketching some art he’d seen in the Louvre from memory, and Tony had watched him, feeling empty and sadly frustrated.  He’d decided to offer what he probably should have offered months ago and come over bearing a USB stick.  Steve had watched him with wide eyes as he’d sat beside him on the couch in front of the fire and explained what he was giving him.  _“It’s the only copy,”_ Tony had said, pressing the little drive into Steve’s hand.  _“The only copy… of all the videos he made of what they did to you.”_

Steve’s face had gone white.  _“What?”_

Tony had struggled with his words.  They hadn’t talked about their intimacy problems since the meltdown.  _“Maybe if you…  If you can see them, you’ll find some comfort.  Maybe it will even jog your memory, so you can know, one way or the other.”_   Steve shook his head, looking down at the drive.Tony brushed his hair from his forehead.  _“He didn’t touch you, Steve.  I truly believe that.  I_ know _it in my heart.  And… I want you back.  It was a lie, what I said before.  I’m not okay with never having you again.  With you never having me.  I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for you to feel comfortable with that, but I don’t just want you touching me.  I need to touch you.  I said it before.  It makes me feel like I’m using you when you please me but won’t let me get you off, and I don’t want that.  I want you to feel okay with me, with all of me.  Me inside you.  You inside me.  Everything we used to have.  I…  Steve?  What’re you–”_

Steve had gotten up, squeezing the USB drive in his palm hard enough to crush it.  Then, without any preamble at all, he tossed the shattered remains into the fire.  Tony watched, shocked.  For a second or two longer, Steve had stared at the flames.  Then he’d turned, and he’d been smiling.  _“I don’t need to know,”_ he said.  _“Not anymore.  Being here, with you…  I’ve been remembering.”_

_“Remembering what?”_

_“Us.  The way we were.  And I keep thinking…  I already have it back.  I’m scared of this, yeah, but…”_   He turned back to the fire burning quietly in the hearth.  _“I don’t need to watch something awful to find something good.  It’s like you said.  It doesn’t matter if it happened.  I already know the truth.”_   He’d met Tony’s gaze and walked to the couch on bare feet.  _“And the truth is I…  I love you.  I trust you.  I want to try.  I want you.”_ His smile had softened, turned more hopeful.  _“If you’ll have me.”_

Tony could have cried.  He probably did.  _“If I’ll have you?  God, Steve, c’mere.”_

They’d made love on the couch.  It had been slow, tender.  Familiar yet new at once.  Tony had taken his time, soothing Steve as his body had shaken against his will, holding Steve’s gaze so that he’d know it was him, his hands and his mouth, not whatever horrors haunted him in his memories and nightmares.  Comforting and grounding every step of the way.  It had actually come surprisingly easy after the first awkward moments, which had been fraught with the tension of all the times they’d tried and failed before.  Once Steve relaxed, everything was just the way it had been.  His hands on Tony’s body.  The strength of his arms.  His exploring kisses.  His taste.  The way they moved together.  After so long, more than a year of separation and pain and longing, it couldn’t have been more perfect.  Tony had lovingly and patiently coaxed Steve’s pleasure from him, slowly and sweetly taking Steve apart where he lay beneath him.  And he’d offered to let Steve have him, but Steve hadn’t wanted that, begging Tony to come inside him.  To make him his again.

Tony had.  It had felt so good, like coming home, as trite as that was.  Like a long song finally reaching its apex as he’d taken Steve’s mouth in a deep kiss and rolled his hips into his hot, willing body.  Everything that had been lingering, the last vestiges of doubt and pain, the ghost of the year they’d lost and the yearning that had gone unfulfilled…  He’d cried out his release.  After so long, it was unimaginably intense.  Steve had welcomed him, quivering with bliss rather than nervousness or fear, sweat-slicked and eyes blown so wide they’d nearly been black.  Tony had stroked him to his own climax, drinking in every gasp and whine and whimper.

Then he’d laid on Steve’s chest, head on his sternum, body cradled between his legs.  He listened to the rapid pace of Steve’s heart slow, felt it match his own in tempo and power.  And then he’d breathed, wondered for a second if he was dreaming.

But he hadn’t been.  Steve’s fingers had carded through his hair, his voice a comforting rumble right beneath Tony’s ear.  _“I love you, Tony.”_

“Tony?”

Tony snapped from the memory, blushing despite himself.  “Yeah!  Yeah, it was good.  Perfect.  You know.”

Once again, Pepper seemed to see right through him.  He wondered how long she’d been staring, how long he’d been drifting.  “Yeah, I know,” she said.  “He came back… more at peace.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed.  Steve visiting Ty’s grave.  Shaving his beard.  Having sex again (and again and again.  Having successfully crossed that bridge, repeat enactments had _definitely_ been in order).  All of that had led to this, the culmination of months of slow, steady convalescence.  “Yeah, I think so.”

Pepper stared at him fondly.  In the dying daylight, she looked beautiful.  “It’s because of you, you know.  If you hadn’t been there for him every step of the way…”

“Mother-henned it?” Tony said with a wry grin.

“If you hadn’t been there for him, if you hadn’t kept your faith, none of this would have happened.  We’d have lost him for good.”  She stepped closer.  “So on behalf of a grateful world, a grateful nation, and an extremely grateful family…”  A playful but sincere smile came to her lips as she hugged him tightly.  “Thank you.  You did well, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s cheeks heated again, and this time there was no hiding it.  There also wasn’t any hiding his ridiculously huge smile.  “Aw, quit it, Potts.  You’re making me blush.”

* * *

Later that night, Tony came to their room to find Steve lying in bed.  He was dressed in only light cotton pajamas, bare-chested and freshly showered, and he was nose-deep in a book.  Tony peeled off his suit jacket as he came closer.  “What’re you reading?”

“Some book written by some guy I know.”

Pulling at his tie, Tony grinned cheekily.  It was indeed a book written by someone Steve knew.  Written by Tony himself, actually.  He recognized the cover instantly.  “Yeah, those were my delusional days thinking I could teach people shit.”  He’d authored that book after graduating MIT, right after his parents had died in fact.  It was based on his senior thesis work.  His therapist would tell him now that that had been an attempt to avoid his grief, by doing something his father would never do, engaging in a defiant act to distance himself from the vast legacy and responsibility he’d inherited.  He couldn’t argue with that.  He toed off his shoes.  “Where in the world did you get a copy?  It was a limited run.  And I think I personally ordered Pepper to hunt down every one of them and burn them. ”

“I know a guy,” Steve responded with a little, smug smirk, not looking up from the text.

It took Tony a second to put two and two together.  “JARVIS, you sneaky bastard.”

“You are not the only master of this house,” JARVIS reminded with a teasing tone.

Tony rolled his eyes, unbuttoning his dress shirt.  “You are really being a dickwad to me today, by the way.”

“I aim to please, sir.”

“And why, pray tell, are we digging up stuff that’s best left collecting dust?”

Steve shrugged, still not meeting Tony’s gaze.  “I was curious.”

Dubiously Tony stared at him.  “You were curious.”

“Uh-huh.  Wanted to know more about a young Tony Stark who wowed the folks at MIT and made one guy so jealous he’d come back thirty years later on a quest for vengeance.”  That wasn’t said with any heat.  It was sly more than anything.

Tony hummed.  Free of his shirt, he went to work on his pants, undoing the belt and fly.  Kicking those off, he sauntered to the bed in only his boxers.  “As much as it turns me on to see you reading what I wrote on electron velocities in super-heated media, like, _thirty_ year ago, it’d turn me on more if you’d watch me get undressed.”

“Nah,” Steve said, though his cheeks colored just a bit and he shifted his lower body.  “This is way more interesting.”

“Harsh.”  Tony crawled onto the bed, gripping Steve’s shins as he slowly moved his way up.  Steve was still reading, eyes trained on the page he had opened and flicking quickly cross the text.  “Are you actually understanding this?” Tony asked, straddling Steve’s lap.  “I mean, it’s been a while, but I remember it being pretty technical.”

“I understand enough,” Steve murmured, turning the page.  Tony winced when he saw the crude figures he’d drawn with – god, what must it have been?  Microsoft Paint?  “I have been with you for a while, you know.  Some of the stuff you say rubs off.”

“Does it?”  He rolled his hips just a little, trying to egg Steve on.

Steve quirked an eyebrow.  “Yeah, a little.  Well, enough to know that you’re a genius.  Smarter than anyone’s got any right to be.  That your mind…  Even as a kid it was something.  As beautiful then as it is now.”

“You don’t need to flatter me, babe.”

“Sometimes I do.  You got teased a lot today.  Your hero needs to make it up to you.”

Gently Tony took the book from his hands and closed it, setting it to the bedside table.  “Do you now?”  He leaned down and took a kiss, breathing deep and filling himself with the scent of Steve’s soap and Steve’s skin.  It was always so pure, so perfect.  Steve’s hands came to his thighs, holding on, as he deepened the kiss and pushed himself up into Tony’s crotch.  Tony groaned into his mouth, sliding his fingers up Steve’s chest, memorizing anew the hills and valleys of his abs and pecs, ghosting over his chest with reverence.  He pinched lightly, and Steve whimpered, and–

On the table next to the book, Steve’s cellphone rang.  Tony went still with alarm before leaning up and leaving Steve flushed and breathing heavily beneath him.  “J?”

“It is Director Fury, sir, calling Captain Rogers,” JARVIS declared.

 _Not again._ “Oh, hell, no,” Tony snapped.  “Nope.  Nuh-uh.  Negativo.”

“It concerns the success of the press conference.”

Tony groaned in exasperation, tipping his head back.  He knew the press conference had gone well – of course he did, even though he’d spent the rest of the evening helping Pepper with SI’s marketing stuff and going over the junk Rhodey wanted for the government and meeting with Bruce and Galloway.  But for God’s sake, Steve had been officially back to work for _one day._   Couldn’t this wait?  “Unbelievable,” Tony hissed, reaching for the shrilly ringing phone.

JARVIS seemed nothing but sympathetic, but he continued explaining.  “The President would like to set up a meeting with you, Captain, and Director Fury would be very much obliged if you would permit him to attend.  He also has some mission information he’d like to–”

“JARVIS, send it to voicemail,” Steve ordered softly.  “Please.  And shut my phone off.”

Tony could practically hear JARVIS’ smile.  “Gladly, sir.”  Steve’s phone immediately stopped ringing.  Tony watched it shut down until it was black and dead to the world and he was satisfied no one else would bother them.  Then he leaned over, stretching to set it back on the table.

A second later they were back to kissing.  It was quiet in their room save for soft breaths and the wet whisper of their lips against each other.  Steve’s fingers were in his hair, his mouth open and hungry, and Tony just melted.  It felt so good.  _So good._   Just as it always had been.  Home and safety and security.  Purpose.

“Tony?”

Tony opened eyes he’d let slip shut.  Apparently he’d drifted, lost so much in Steve’s closeness and Steve’s scent and Steve’s taste that he’d actually stopped kissing back.  Steve look up at him, brushing the back of his fingers over his cheek.  His eyes were deep with concern.  “You okay?”

Tony grinned.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m good.  Great.  _Wonderful._ ”  Steve chuckled.  “You?”

“Same,” Steve whispered, taking another kiss.  Then he laughed again.  “Was a hell of a day.”

“Yeah.”  Tony sighed softly, laying down as he did to rest his head on Steve’s chest under his chin.  “Yeah, it was.”

It was silent.  Steve’s hands rubbed up and down his bare back.  Then he took a bit of a deeper breath.  “I was thinking a lot, after the press conference.  After dinner.  Missed you at dinner.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.  And missed you with me at the conference.  Didn’t feel exactly right, telling everyone that the Avengers were back without Iron Man standing beside me.”  Tony hummed softly again, settling his weight more onto Steve.  The clip of the conference he’d seen earlier floated across his mind, the one of Steve standing there at the podium, flanked by Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Thor, proclaiming to the world in a clear, steady voice that he’d been hurt but was recovering…  _“…with Tony’s love and support, I’ve managed to put the damage that was done to me behind me.  It hasn’t been easy, but I can assure you that, as we stand here today, united and stronger together than we ever were before, the Avengers will always fight for you.  I will always fight for you.  This hasn’t changed that.  What happened to me hasn’t broken me.  It hasn’t defeated me.  No matter what, I will defend you to my last breath, whenever that may be.  It wasn’t back on that oil rig, that’s for sure.  God willing, it won’t be for many years to come.”_

“You did a pretty fantastic job, though,” Tony commented, breaking from his thoughts.

Steve smiled.  “Thanks.  Felt real good.”

“I bet.”

“But…  Like I said, I was thinking.”

“Yeah?” Tony splayed his fingers on Steve’s ribs, feeling him breathe.  It was pretty mesmerizing.

“Yeah.  I was thinking I need to tell you I’m sorry.”

Surprised, Tony looked up.  “Sorry?  You’ve said that about a gazillion times over the last few months.  What for this time?”

Steve frowned.  His eyes were still so deep with concern.  “Just everything today…  It made me realize just how much you guys were hurt, too.  What Clint said.  And Bruce and Rhodey.  How hard it was to take care of you.  How much pain you were in.”  He shook his head a little on the pillow.  “I mean, I know how you suffered while I was gone.  How you drove yourself crazy trying to find me.  I’ve always known it.  But I guess it didn’t sink in.  Not all the way.”

“That’s alright,” Tony murmured.

“No, it’s not.  God, if our roles had been reversed…  I would have done the same.  I wouldn’t have been able to let it go if I thought for even a second you were still alive.  But I wouldn’t have had the smarts to pick apart what happened and figure it out.”

Tony closed his eyes.  “You’re pretty smart yourself.  You would have found me.”

“Think so?”

“Absolutely.”

For a little bit, Steve seemed to think about that, still absently caressing Tony’s back.  Eventually he pressed his palm between Tony’s shoulder blades like he needed to keep him close.  “Well, anyway, JARVIS and I talked a lot while I was waiting for you tonight.  I asked him about… about how it really was for you.  How you handled it.”

Tony grimaced inwardly.  He couldn’t help himself.  “Oh, God, please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did.  He said you did what you had to.”  At that, Tony relaxed, rubbing Steve’s chest gently.  _Thank you, JARVIS._   His AI had his back where it counted, it seemed.

Never mind.  His AI was still an asshole.  “He also told me you put yourself needlessly in danger and hardly slept or ate for a year and refused to let anyone help you.  Oh, and you almost burned down part of Manila.”

“Goddamn it,” Tony groaned.

Steve laughed a little, resuming stroking his fingers up Tony’s spine.  “It’s alright.  Well, it wasn’t really, but it doesn’t matter now,” he said.  “In JARVIS’ defense, he was real sympathetic when he told me.”  Tony shook his head, resigned and amused.  Steve sighed again.  “You did what you had to.  You saved me, Tony.”  He’d said that a lot, too, over the last months.  It was always with such gratitude, such love and deep, deep appreciation.  “I’ll never be able to repay that.”

“You did already, Steve,” Tony whispered, kissing his chest.

“I came back, but it was because you brought me back,” Steve softly said.  “You didn’t just find me.  You helped me find my way.  And you did all that while hurting so much, dealing with so much.  You guys all think I’m strong and brave?  I’m nothing, nothing compared to you.”  Tony felt lips brush into his hair.  “So, yeah, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry you had to go through that, sorry I left you alone.  It’s…  It’s not any more my fault than it is your fault for what happened to me, but…  I want to say it.  And I want to keep saying thank you.  Thank you now and forever.  I have to remind you of how today and every day after it…  They’re only happening because of you.”

Tony could barely breathe for the lump in his throat.  He was thankful for the low light, the way his face was turned and buried under Steve’s chin, so Steve couldn’t see his red cheeks and wet eyes.  Which was dumb, to be embarrassed in front of a man he loved this much and who loved him so completely in return.  “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

Once more it turned quiet.  Tony let his eyes slip shut, lulled by the steady _thump_ of Steve’s heartbeat beneath his cheek.  Steve’s hand was still trailing tenderly up and down his back, soft and worshipful.  Eventually those lips brushed Tony’s hair again.  “You tired, darlin’?”

“Yeah, a little.”  It was a good tired, though, fatigue from so much accomplishment and fulfillment settling deep in his blood and bones.  “You?”

Tony felt Steve grin.  “Maybe a little.  Maybe.”  That was super soldier code for _no, not really._   “We can just go to sleep.  If you want to.”

At that, Tony sprung up.  He looked down at Steve, completely aghast and with new energy and desire thrumming through him.  “What?  No.  No way.  And miss celebrating this?  Miss having you like this?  Miss holding you and kissing you and cherishing you?  Taking even _one second_ of this for granted?”  He shook his head.  “Never.  Not ever again.  We’re together.  _I_ think it’s because of both of us, frankly, that we have all these days ahead, happily ever after and so forth, but you can be entitled to your opinion.”  Steve smiled, gripping his hips.  “But whatever the reason, I’m not letting a second of it slip away.  I want to treasure you, for however long we have.  I’m the luckiest man in the world because I have this.  I have you.  God, you’re beautiful, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes welled with tears.  He didn’t even try to hide them.  “Tony…”

“So let me show you how happy you make me,” Tony whispered as he leaned down and kissed Steve again.  Steve eagerly opened his mouth, threading his fingers into Tony’s hair, and Tony explored like he hadn’t done so a thousand times before, like this was the first time and last time and only time.  Steve groaned as Tony swept his tongue deeper inside before pulling away and nipping playfully at Steve’s lower lip.  He grinned deviously, peppering more wet kisses down Steve’s jaw and neck.  He nibbled there, licked at the hollow of his neck, suckled over the steady beat of his pulse.  “Let me show you how much I want you.” He pushed Steve’s legs apart gently but insistently, kissing further along his chest until Steve was panting and flushed with need and clutching desperately at Tony’s hips.  “Let me love you.”

Steve groaned, lifting his body up into Tony’s.  “God, Tony…”

“I won’t even make you do any of the work,” Tony offered cheekily.  He pushed himself up on his hands, bracketing Steve and looming over him.  Steve frantically sought a kiss, one Tony happily awarded.  Then he gently pressed him down into the plush pillows.  “You just lie there, baby, and let me make you feel good.”

“I guess I really shouldn’t turn this down,” Steve said.

“Nope.  Take it from me.  Gotta live life in the moment.”

Lightly Steve laughed.  “Alright.  Pamper me, old man.”

Tony smiled and pressed a kiss right over Steve’s heart.  “For all the rest of my days.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we wrap up another story :-). This one started out as an idea for the Cap-Iron Man Big Bang last year that I thought would be about 75k words and turned into this 250k monster. I don't know what happened! All I do know is I am so grateful to the incredible [Winterstar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar) for helping me so much with this story, from plotting it out with me to beta-reading to listening to me whine when I got myself all turned around and confused about the ending. This fic would not have been a success without her! Also thanks to junker5, who was a fantastic sounding board near the end. I so appreciate her time spent helping me figure out how to finish this puppy.
> 
> And, of course, thanks to all of you, the people who took the time to read! Extra special thanks if you left a comment or kudo. Much, much appreciated.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://thegraytigress.tumblr.com)!


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